


And Stand By Me

by otfuckingp



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Holiday Exchange, M/M, ME - Freeform, No Smut, Practice Kissing, UniStudent!Louis, Valentine's Day, deliveryboy!harry, ya know who doesnt know how to tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13391709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otfuckingp/pseuds/otfuckingp
Summary: Louis didn't hate Valentine's Day, per se. It wasn't a particular source of irritation to him that it was only just after Christmas. He wasn't personally offended, like some of his friends were. He just didn't really care, is the thing.Louis really didn't care about Valentine's day, not at all. Which is why, when he burst into tears at Tesco at nearly midnight on February 13th, it was because he stubbed his toe against the shelf, not because of the piles of candy and flowers and chocolates on display at the front of the store. Really. He didn't care about any of that; he knew he was loved with or without candy. With or without a boyfriend to tell him so. It was fine.(In which Louis is recovering from a bad breakup, Harry is the delivery boy who brings him endless takeout, and the reappearance of an ex-boyfriend leads to some shenanigans).





	And Stand By Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clarryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarryt/gifts).



> oh my god oh my god its done its done i finally finished it holy hell I'm so happy! This is (nearly) the longest fic I've written, the only longshot I've ever completed, and genuinely one of my favourite things to write. 
> 
> To the wonderful clarryt, I'm so happy you gave me this prompt, even though I did run away with the ending a bit. I tried, I really tried to write some smut, but my aceness simply wouldn't allow it. Woooops. 
> 
> This fic is my baby, and I'm so grateful to anyone who helped me along the way (even though I am terrible at keeping in touch with my betas). Thanks to [Katherine](https://maybe-jamesbond.tumblr.com/) (who put up with me disappearing for months on end and then emailing half-nonsense drafts at 3am). 
> 
> As well as my IRL friends who don't even read Larry but still put up with my bitching about plot development and adjectives for a solid three months. 
> 
> Love you all, hope you enjoy!

Louis didn't  _hate_ Valentine's Day, per se. He didn't see all the department store candy show up, bright pink packages and silly slogans abound, and get pissed like lots of his friends did. It wasn't a particular source of irritation to him that it was only just after Christmas. He wasn't  _personally offended,_  like some of his friends were. He just didn't really  _care,_  is the thing. Of course, it helped that when the candy started showing up, he was at Tesco with his boyfriend, whose arms wrapped around his middle, who leaned down to murmur "don't need a holiday to show how much I love you" hotly in his ear, before kissing him. Zayn (who, oh yeah,  _was_  there too, on a snack run before midterm revision) complained, loudly, turning away to shield his eyes and whine about how gross they were. Again, Louis didn't really care. He had a beautiful boy in his arms who loved him every day, not just the days where holidays said he had to. 

 

Louis  _really_  didn't care about Valentine's day, not at all. Which is why, when he burst into tears at Tesco at nearly midnight on February 13th, it was because he stubbed his toe against the shelf, not because of the piles of candy and flowers and chocolates on display at the front of the store. Really. He didn't care about any of that; he knew he was loved with or without candy. With or without a boyfriend to tell him so. It was  _fine._  

 

He and Matt hadn't known each other long, more than a couple of weeks or so, before Louis decided he just  _had_  to date that boy. He was exactly Louis' type, tall and blond and witty, and most importantly,  _he was into Louis._  Not that Louis has been supposed to know that at the time, but really. Matt wasn't very subtle. Louis was more perceptive than he let on. Matt was in most of Louis' lectures at uni, sat behind him in almost all of them, and always offered to buy him coffee and study together afterwards. He was considerate, caring, and never failed to make him laugh. They just  _worked._  

 

It also helped that their roommates were friends, schemed to get them together, threw a party, and stood back and laughed while he and Matt drunkenly danced around each other (and then together). Zayn and Niall could be annoying, sometimes, and Louis had been ready to kill them for it at the beginning of the night for embarrassing him like that. He was prettty sure Niall deserved to be strung up by his ears, or shoved in a locked closet with Zayn. See how  _he_  liked it. As for Zayn, Louis had threatened to burn holes in his precious leather jacket for the humiliation. His sexual frustration couldn't take it. 

 

By the end of the night, though, he was singing their praises. (Well, mentally. It wouldn't have done to say that out loud, what with Matt going down on him and all). Not the most romantic of origin stories, sure. But Louis wasn't picky about the origin story, not when he was that happy. Zayn and Niall really were the best.  

 

Louis fell asleep in a sticky, alcohol-soaked pile of limbs and sweat, and woke up in the arms of a boy that made him happy. And happy he'd remained. 

 

It was six months of candy apples and spiked cider, of stolen kisses in Louis' bed, trying not to be too loud in case Zayn heard and came in to yell at them (again). And then, them deciding they didn't give a fuck what Zayn did and didn't hear, not after how long Louis had put up with his loud music and random hookups.

 

It was cuddling on the couch watching horror movies and then holiday films, of tipsily crying on Matt's shoulder about how  _big_  his sisters were getting, and how he wasn't there to see it. It was laughing about how painfully obvious Zayn and Niall were, tiptoeing around each other and exchanging fond looks and then whining about how the other would never love them back. They were adorable, really. And kind of sad. Everything seemed so simple, easier, when Louis was in love with Matt.

 

It was sneaking onto the roof of Matt's flat building, getting high and staring at the stars, pressing giggles into the other's skin, pretending they knew the secrets of the universe. The stars were hidden in his eyes, Louis was sure.   

 

It was  _happy._  It was soft, and gentle, and happy and it made Louis want to cry sometimes with how full his heart felt.  

 

But Matt was also a year older than Louis, and had enough credits to graduate early, and had a fancy job offer waiting for him on the other side of the country. That hadn't been a problem in September, everything soaked in sunlight and rose-tinted at the edges with happiness. Louis had known going into it what he was in for, that their time was more limited than what he'd told himself, but somewhere between dressing in couple's costumes at Halloween and sneaking kisses-that-turned-into-snogging under mistletoe right in front of Zayn and Niall (who were  _not at all_  appreciative, thank you very much), he'd forgotten.  

 

It was all a little more starkly real when Louis went to Matt and Niall's flat just after the New Year, greeted by towering walls of cardboard boxes and the scent of packing tape. He was allergic to the packing tape, definitely. His eyes started watering almost before he crossed the threshold. The smell probably wafted out the door and down the stairwell, affecting Louis before he even knew it. 

 

Matt didn't fare much better, eyes and nose red, hair a dishevelled mess even as they went outside and the smell dispersed. He didn't stop snuffling all while they packed the boxes into the back of his ancient sedan, or while Louis drove them both to the airport, holding his hand over the gearshift. It wasn't until they said goodbye at the security gates that Louis broke down, ugly crying and probably getting snot on Matt's shoulder. Matt had just held him, strong and sure as he'd always been, anchoring him.  

 

And then the anchor was gone. Louis'd gone home, adrift. Matt wasn't there. Matt wasn't there, and the weather was shit, hot and muggy. He'd gone home, and Matt wasn't there, and it was gonna start raining, and Louis's life was coming apart at the seams. Matt wasn't there, and he wouldn't be there tomorrow, or ever again. And Louis wasn't okay with that, not at all. But somehow, the universe expected him to be. Which was  _shit._  

 

He'd gone home alone, and upset, and a little bit terrified of the future now. It all seemed a little empty, a little useless without Matt. And it was Zayn who bore the brunt of all this uncertainty, just sitting quietly while Louis slammed doors and thundered down hallways, a hurricane leaking sadness.

 

He'd screamed, directed it all at Zayn, "You fucking asshole! I thought we were friends! You and fucking Niall, meddling like that! I never asked you to," he'd begun to pace now, a restless energy consuming him. he was ignoring the way his voice had gone all high and reedy. "You're the fucking reason I'm so...I fucking hate you, I just--" he cut off into choked sobs. He hadn't even known he'd been crying.

 

But there they were, those damn tears he'd been holding in since that morning, since he first knew Matt would have to leave. Maybe they'd always been there, just waiting to spill over.  

 

Zayn was the worst, setting him up for heartbreak. How fucking  _dare_  he? Maybe Zayn had missed what he'd said, though, because he didn't react like he was being yelled at. He hadn't even blinked, just wordlessly lifted a bottle of vodka from where he sat on the sofa, face awash with sympathy. And Louis just fucking...broke. He crumpled in on himself, stomach aching and head throbbing and heart with a giant hole in it and life was all so unfair. Tears ran freely down is cheeks, eyes burning and stinging as he fell apart. And Zayn held him through it.  

 

Louis'd finished the vodka. And when he woke up the next morning, eyes puffy and red and head aching, mouth tasting awful, Zayn still snoring across the bed next to him, he could've kissed Zayn. Zayn just  _got it._  

Zayn was  _wonderful._  

 

In a perfect world, Louis would have been fine after a couple weeks, just needing a little bit of time to accept the end of the relationship like a rational adult. So that's exactly what happened. Rational adults definitely ate nothing but junk food for nearly a month straight, ordering out at midnight and not leaving the flat unless it was strictly necessary. At least, the delivery boy never judged him for it, so Louis assumed it was rational enough.   

Somehow that was enough.  

 

Rational adults also only opened the door for Niall and Zayn and the delivery boy, and occasionally Niall's new roommate Liam. Louis had wanted to hate Liam so badly for replacing Matt's space in their lives. He'd wanted to be a bitter asshole about it. He totally hadn't though. Well, not after the first two weeks, sort of. Louis supposed, in hindsight, that seeing someone try to step into the flat behind Niall and immediately slamming the door in their face was probably bitter asshole behaviour. So he only did it once.

  

It was a rough adjustment, really, but Liam had the personality of a puppy, and it'd torn Louis right in half to see Liam upset. It went against the natural order of the universe, or something.  

 

So Liam and Niall came over a lot, bearing sympathetic looks and alcohol, watching movies and getting high and kicking his ass and FIFA and cracking bad jokes with Zayn. They hadn't always made him participate, just let him sit and feel included, not as alone for a while. Louis really had the best friends in the whole world. And if they eventually wound up on the sofa or the floor in a human puppy pile, well, everyone else needed it just as badly as Louis did.

 

Obviously. 

 

But at some point, they all kind of eased back a little, expecting that Louis would pick himself up and start to move on too. Which was just really baffling, because by week four he still felt exactly the same as he had on day one, ready to cry if someone so much as looked at him the wrong way. But Niall couldn't bring his guitar round and fuck about with Louis for hours on end; he had coursework to finish. And Zayn had been helping with that, apparently, because he was gone at Niall's a lot too. Louis always made a mental note to grill him about that. It was important, or something. It'd seemed important, at least. Usually, it came to little more than a halfhearted text that went unanswered, and Zayn missing a lot of nights at their flat. Or sometimes he was just out actually being a uni student, which _theoretically_ Louis was supposed to start doing again as well. That rarely happened, though. Why should he be bothered to give a fuck about _homework_ when everything in life was terrible and the universe hated him?

 

He dragged himself out of bed at noon every other day, roughly. If there was a class in the afternoon, he’d stumble into a (maybe) clean pair of sweats, grab, like, a pen or something, and go to class. Being _in_ class, though, pretty much consisted of doodling on papers, barely listening, and avoiding eye contact with all of Matt’s friends.

 

Or napping. He did a lot of napping.

 

This was probably the point in the story where, if it were a story, Louis would have picked himself up, realized that a six-month Uni relationship ending was not also his life ending, and continued on. Which is why that's exactly what he didn't do. If anything, he just let it get worse.  

 

Classes resumed after Christmas, and Louis was only aware because this one time, Zayn randomly rushed out the door, tripping over his own untied shoelaces. And by "aware", it was more like he listened to shuffling and muffled thumps through the wall, groaned, and rolled over, burying his head beneath a pillow and not emerging for several more hours. He was fully determined to remain in his blanket cave until someone came along to eject him. Or he needed to piss.  

 

And then the flat was empty for the day. Nothing to keep Louis distracted, nothing he even wanted to distract himself with. He wandered about aimlessly, sitting on the couch and "watching" the tv for as long as he could stand the noise. Then he'd flip it off, grab a textbook, and contemplate how easy it'd be to just drop it off the balcony and never see it again. (The answer: all too easy, and all too satisfying).  

 

He stopped caring about just about everything, really. What was the point in looking nice, when there was nobody to notice whether he did or not? Nobody to impress? He went so long without putting his contacts in that one morning, in a random fit of energy, he opened the case to find that all the fluid had dried up. ...And there went his motivation for the day. He spent the rest of it staring at a wall. (Maybe, he doesn't remember). 

 

Getting up in the morning felt like driving nails through his skull. Breathing was about as repetitive as hitting his head up against a wall, over and over and over and over again without fail. Like, he did, because if he didn't Zayn and Niall would get all pouty, and then Liam would threaten to come over with soup and cuddles, and then he'd have to put up with soup and cuddles and just, no. No. (Louis loved Liam. He did. He just didn't know how to express it while also admitting he hated soup and extra attention).

 

He went to class every so often, just to make Zayn stop fretting. There were only so many ways Zayn could comb through his hair and force him to get dressed before Louis felt more like an invalid than someone getting over a breakup. Or disapproving emails from professors he could stomach before doing _something_. That was the extent of his motivation, though.

 

And occasionally he'd order food, once every two days or so, when he remembered we was supposed to do that, not just wallow in his existence forever. He ordered in, because walking was really just too much work, and talking to others on the phone was just about the extent of the limits of his sanity. 

 

The delivery boy never judged him for it, though. Which was pretty nice. It was always the same one, too; a tall, skinny thing with long limbs, loose brown curls forever flopping into green eyes, and a silver nametag that read  _Harry_. Harry had to have figured out at some point that Louis was...dealing with something. It was inevitable; either Louis couldn't make his own food and just really had a passion for UberEats-sponsored McDonalds, or he was dealing with some shit. Option A was entirely possible, but Louis wasn't stupid. Even the most hapless of university students (him) could actually bother to get dressed and comb their own hair occasionally. Or tidy their flats.  

 

Louis could not. This was justified, given the situation. Not that Harry knew the situation. Thus, Harry was probably always judging him for being in a right state. But whatever.  

So once every few days, Harry would drop off one of the same 3 things Louis ordered (two from restaurants he'd gone to with Matt, even the one he didn't like all that much, yes he was coping properly thank you), accept his payment, and leave. Except more and more frequently, he'd throw in odd little comments that weren't required of him.  

 

On Sunday night, dropping off Louis' fifth order of lasagne in as many days, Harry said, "Hope you have a good night, mate." as if Louis would be doing something with himself--other than getting drunk and eating takeout--ever.  

 

On Tuesday night, Harry arrived with Chinese food Louis had a 5% chance of actually finishing. His comment? "Good choice" like Louis ever ordered anything else, like this was at all a unique decision for him. Harry had probably seen him order wontons and fried rice about ten times.  

 

On Wednesday Louis was actually, magically hungry again. Harry offered a much more casual "Be seeing you" on his way out the door, which, yeah, he wasn't wrong, but wasn't exactly the typical customer-service comment, was it? 

 

Friday night, Harry brought McDonalds. Louis wasn't feeling particularly inspired, food wise. "Enjoy your meal" was the comment of the day. Okay, that was more typical, but Louis wasn't convinced McDonalds would ever count as a meal. 

 

All of these were accompanied by a small, crinkle-eyed smile that felt genuine and heartfelt. Like Harry cared. Which was a pretty weird concept, all things considered. Louis never responded to any of Harry's comments outside a terse smile or a nod of his head. At first he was too taken aback by this, this subversion of the "I-don't-have-to-talk-to-anyone" bliss of ordering food to even form a response, and Harry was out the door before he could reply. After, it just became a sort of routine, tradition if you will, to not say anything. Louis didn't want to disrupt whatever weird understanding they had going on.  

 

Was it an understanding? More of a sympathy, probably. Harry felt bad for Louis. Which was totally understandable; Louis felt bad for Louis too. 

 

Louis was maybe a little bit concerned-unconcerned that most of his daily interactions with people extended as far as chatting to Zayn before Zayn rushed off to class if Louis was awake then, texting Zayn or maybe Niall or rarely Liam, hearing Zayn return to the flat at about 3am after work (the man was insane. That was the only conclusion), or talking to the delivery boy and cataloguing their interactions.  (He decided not to tell Zayn about it. Zayn would just worry). (More).

 

Louis was definitely losing it. But it was fine.  

 

But then Harry started talking to Louis. Not the same as before, an offhanded remark or throwaway comment about the food, but actual conversation starters.  

 

The next time he dropped off food (McDonald's once again) Harry paused in the doorway, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders (seemingly to steel himself for a moment) and then said, "So I know you have this thing for McDonalds or Chinese food, but we deliver this great sushi place too, you should look into it." The end of the sentence turned up a little bit, almost like a question. Harry wanted a response. So Louis gave him one. His voice was croaky and kind of sad from recent disuse, but he managed a faint, 

 

"I'll look at it, sure," and a smile. 

 

This prompted the biggest grin out of Harry, who said "Sweet," just fucking beamed, and offered an "until next time" as he backed away from the door, doing finger guns all the while. Which was already pretty goofy looking, and then he backed into the wall just opposite Louis' door.  

 

Even from the doorway, Louis could see the blush stain his cheeks. Harry straightened up abruptly, ran a hand distractedly through his hair, "Oops—uh, I'll just be going now. Bye!" And with a cheery, abashed little wave and cheesy smile, Harry disappeared down the stairs, narrowly avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process. Which is to say he stumbled, barely righting himself, but Louis graciously overlooked to save Harry's dignity. 

 

Louis broke out into laughter.

 

It almost hurt, he hadn't done it in so long. He didn't mind it, though. It felt nice, oddly cathartic, letting loud, booming laughs echo off the stairwell walls and shake his shoulders. Harry definitely heard him. When the tears started sliding down his cheeks, though, Louis took himself back inside. 

 

Laughter at the expense of something funny? Good.  

 

Laughter until you cry, and then just crying? Feels good, but not good for public. Or the semi-public of a communal stairwell.  

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The second time Harry and Louis actually properly talked was a few days later. Louis ordered sushi from that one place (actually yeah, it looked really good, Harry had good taste). Harry was positively beaming at him over it. What was it with this lad and his fucking smile? And with Louis for noticing it? It was just a smile, nothing overly special about it. 

  

Harry's voice broke into his little mental ranting session, "Glad I could help you pick something new." Even though he'd been expecting Harry to say something, Louis jumped a little. Maybe expecting was the wrong word, hoping might've been a little closer. Either way, he was a little more unprepared than he should've been, realistically speaking. 

 

Somehow he had nothing to say other than "Well, sometimes change is a good thing." And  _wow_ , he needed to get out of this interaction as soon as possible. Probably go scream into a pillow or the floor for a few hours. Maybe die. No way did he say that to a real human person he's only spoken to twice. No way was that what he was doing with his life. That was too emotional, too heavy, too everything, too much. Absolutely terrible.  

 

Harry, for his part, reacted admirably. He just smiled, oddly wistfully, and said "ah, it can be." Why did that sound as understanding as it did? 

 

Oh, because Harry had been witness to Louis' own self-contained breakdown for  _ages now,_  and pretty much knew exactly how pathetic Louis was. Gross. 

 

Fucking....people. This is why he stopped talking to Liam, for fuck's sake. Understanding was not something he needed, unless he wanted to continue the daily crying sessions he'd been doing so much work to stop. 

 

Louis was far too tired, far too confused and upset at himself to even think about entertaining this conversation. There was no version of this that didn't end with him saying something embarrassing and scaring Harry off. (Wait, since  _when_  did he care about Harry's opinion?  _Nice going, Tomlinson, talk to someone literally twice and start caring about their opinion of you. Brilliant)_. Too much, too soon, ugh.  

 

Harry must've seen it on his face somehow, because all he did next was offer another gentle smile and a "I hope you enjoy the sushi," before backing his way out of the flat (and not hitting into the wall this time).  

 

Louis couldn't help himself, calling out "Look out for the wall, it's out to get you!" and barking out a laugh at Harry's distressed groan. He wasn't planning on letting that one go for a long time. 

 

It was a strange feeling, laughing just to laugh. Making a joke just for the sake of it. He'd missed it. 

 

~~~~

 

Louis ordered sushi a few more times, not missing Harry's delighted smile each time he came by to drop it off. In truth he was rather looking forward to it. He was also more prepared this time, question poised on his lips as soon as he opened the door. 

 

"Which is better, California or Dragon rolls?" Harry looked suitably taken aback, that probably being the most words he'd ever heard Louis say consecutively, and especially unprompted. His green eyes were wide, smile somewhat frozen (but definitely present) on his face. The bag of food dangled from his fingers, slightly outstretched and rustling, hand awkwardly half-raised. 

 

"Uh...I gotta go with Dragon rolls," The words came slowly, syrupy. It was almost exhausting to listen to. Louis had half a mind to smack him, encourage him to go _a little faster, for fuck's sake._  The other half of him got the impression it meant Harry was choosing his words carefully. He wasn't sure what that meant. It was more pleasant though, maybe like it meant something. 

 

"Well, I got both. I'll have to see if you're right." 

 

"Observe and report back?" A corner of Harry's mouth had quirked up, forming quite the endearing little smile. 

 

Louis pried the bag from between his fingers, setting it on the table with a  _thunk._  "More or less." 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Harry was right. Dragon rolls were better. He knew it, too, before Louis even said anything. Louis could tell from the shit-eating grin on his face. He stepped out of the open doorway, invitation implicit. Harry understood, having done this a few times before by now. 

 

"Snooping in my sushi, are we?" Harry had the audacity not to look ashamed. How dare he. "How dare you," There was no malice to Louis' voice, and he was sure Harry knew from the silly grin splayed over his face. Again, that was new. Not that Louis was upset; he'd missed these moments, smiling just for the sake of it, gently teasing without heat. 

 

Harry just shrugged, the bastard. "Well, I was right." He set the sushi down on the table, grin not faltering for a moment. (Louis really needed to stop focusing on his fucking face). "Dragon rolls are awesome." 

 

Louis huffed. "That is far from the point, Harold." 

 

"Harold?"

 

"I stand by it."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis  _really_  didn't care about Valentine's day, not at all. Which is why, when he burst into tears at Tesco at nearly midnight on February 13th, it was because he stubbed his toe against the shelf, not because of the piles of candy and flowers and chocolates on display at the front of the store. Really.

 

"Fucking....fuck." He gasped out, dropping the apples back into the bin. There wasn't really a good word for how he was feeling, this angry mess of frustration, anger, hurt, confusion, and exhaustion bubbling just under his skin. He'd been doing so we _ll,_  was the thing. He'd cleaned his flat the other day. he'd been going to classes again, picking himself out of the mass of unfinished assignments and actually  _giving a shit._  He'd showered this morning, and promised himself to actually make food for once, instead of ordering in.

 

That wasn't looking too likely at the moment. Louis swiped at his eyes angrily, hating the stinging feeling. The tear ducts weren't listening to him, fucking traitors, and continued to spill over his lashes, down his face.It was just...too much. Those pink candy bags, the hearts and the chocolates, they were taunting him. Shame welled up in his gut, screaming at him for being a fucking child, but he couldn't help it. Everything fucking  _hurt,_  so much, all the time. It wasn't  _fair. I won't cry in public. Not again._

 

_It's not fair...it's not fair..._  Played on a loop through his mind as he left the store. He abandoned the cart without a second thought, half-filled with frozen pizzas and soda as it was. (Hey, he was still an inept uni student, breakup-induced-breakdown notwithstanding. Cooking wasn't part of the equation here). It took a considerable amount of self-control as it was not to swipe an arm out and knock all those bags of fluorescent candy off the shelf. Who even wanted lime green hearts? Gross.

 

London was cold at nearly-midnight. Louis shivered, drawing his jacket tighter around him and trying to ignore the way his teeth were chattering. Oh, and his eyes were still leaking, leaving icy trails down his face. At least most of the walk was well-lit, darkness being the absolute last thing he wanted to deal with too. Somehow the kilometre long walk back to his flat seemed a lot worse when he wasn't buoyed with hope, temporary aspirations and self-love. 

 

"Why does the world have to suck so much?" He whispered to himself, hating the words as soon as they happened. Even said barely aloud, with nobody around to hear, they were pathetic and forlorn. Weak. It was gross. Never mind the way his nose was stuffed and voice weak from crying. He was a wreck, and he hated it. 

 

He tried to conjure up those "positive thoughts" Liam and Zayn were always spewing.  _it'll get better....someday you'll get over him...there are other people out there...._

Somehow it was all much more plausible under the light of day, hope-shiny and bright. The happy glow tarnished a little in the darkness, lost some of the lustre. It was easy for Liam to say, with his happy-normal-shiny relationship and well-ordered Valentine's day plans. Life was all roses for him. And Zayn...well, Louis didn't really know what was going on there, but  _something was definitely going on._

 

So yeah, Louis was the pathetic single friend. It was easy to be in a relationship and say that it was easy to get into a relationship, they'd already gone and  _done it. or_  saying that not being in a relationship was fine, when you didn't have to. Hypocrisy of the highest order. Everything Liam and Zayn said was false. Louis was pathetic.

 

Finally, finally, finally reaching his flat building, Louis unlocked the front door with frozen fingers. He nearly swore bloody murder when the keys dropped to the pavement the first couple of times, hands too stiff to be of any use. He was just so beyond done with anything and everything today, and couldn't be bothered to give a fuck. Everything sucked, and he wanted his bed. And tea. And maybe to drown in a hot shower.

 

He barely gave himself time to kick off his shoes before catapulting into bed, vaguely registering that Zayn was in fact home right now. He'd probably be gone by the time Louis woke up the next morning, given that Louis was planning to sleep for approximately a million years. Also, Zayn probably had Valentine's plans. Still, Louis made sure to leave a sticky note on Zayn's door, a little smiley face and a "have fun tonight XX" and a crude drawing. He was hilarious. 

 

Sleep. Yes. Immediately. 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Louis' greeting of choice when he opened the door was, "Can't believe they make you work on Valentine's Day."

 

Harry stood on the other side of the door, nose and ears pink from the cold. He rolled his eyes, an annoyed huff escaping his mouth as an actual puff of steam. "If we didn't have any customers, I wouldn't have to work." He could've almost passed for annoyed, if it weren't for his dimple threatening to break through on the left side.  

 

Louis poked it. "Oh well, I wanted food. Can't be helped." Harry looked vaguely miffed, bringing his free hand up to his cheek, swiping bemusedly at the spot Louis' finger had been. Louis tracked the movement silently, weirdly fascinated.  _Okay so that was weird, probably too far, but it's too late now._

 

"Well, it's not like I had anything to do today anyways." Harry's reply eventually came, just a little later than it should've been.  _Hmm. So he's single. Got it._

 

Louis really had no way of responding to that other than 'hey, me neither! I'm single and this holiday is terrible, I'm on the verge of a breakdown because of it!' and that really wasn;t something he felt like saying probably  _ever,_  so instead he jumped to another topic. 

 

 "Oh c’mon in, it's gotta be freezing out there." Not like Harry didn't come in most days because Louis was a lazy shit who didn't want to bother pulling food out of a bag on his own, but now there was, like, explicit permission. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, bouncing a little.  _Why does it matter so much all of a sudden?_  Except he really didn't want to answer that, even in his head. So instead he said, "I know the heating is shit in the halls." 

 

When Harry  _still_  refused to move, he gestured dramatically with his arms, an overdone shooing motion more likely to hit him in the face than make him come in. 

 

A smile tugged that the corner's of Harry's lips. "Yeah, you're not wrong." He finally stepped in, though, manoeuvring around Louis to set the bags on the table. Oh, yeah, after a full day of not eating Louis had probably gone overboard with the order; there was at least two people's worth of food on the table. So, bags, plural 

 

Louis turned away from the table to grab some plates (yes, plural, he'd ordered like 8 things that needed to be spread out immediately and eaten just as quickly), calling "you're welcome to stay in for a second, warm up a little" as he went down the hall. 

 

Harry didn't reply, but judging by the way a door closed a second later, Louis presumed he was in the loo. Humming under his breath, Louis stretched, straining to grab some plates. Why the  _fuck_  did he let Zayn put the dishes that high up? Ugh. They'd have to have a talk about that later. 

 

Today was a good day so far. After the meltdown of last night, Louis had promised himself to do better with the day, completely ignoring what day it was in favour of eating a ridiculous amount of food and playing a fuckton of video games. It was going quite well so far, if he did say so himself. And it was going to continue to go well as he inhaled his weight in Indian food. 

 

Harry came out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his jeans and smile fixed on his face. "How many people are you hosting, with that much?" A cheeky eyebrow was raised, his head jutted in the direction of the table. 

 

"Oh, fuck off." Louis couldn't help but laugh, seizing a napkin off the holder and flinging it in Harry's general direction. He couldn’t stifle his giggles as Harry actually went so far as to open the bags, counting each foil-wrapped tin as he pulled them out. 

 

~~~~~~

 

"...Eight..." The table was pretty small, admittedly, as it usually only held Louis and Zayn, and by now it was pretty much fully covered in takeout containers. There were also numerous crumpled napkins littering the floor by Harry's feet. Louis denied all involvement. They'd had a small fit over how many fortune cookies the Chinese place had included, looking more like dinner for a family of 5 than for 1. Louis was in hysterics, doing his best to justify himself;

 

"Look, okay, it's not my fault I love sushi all of a sudden! Technically you're to blame here!" His stomach was actually spasming from how much he was laughing, throat sore and eyes scrunching up. 

 

Harry just smiled wickedly, reaching back into the bag. "..Ni--"

 

He was cut off by someone knocking at the door. The sound rather abruptly sliced through the atmosphere they'd created around them, all twinkly and happy-bright. Louis stood from where he’d been perched at the back of the sofa, scrubbing a hand through his hair in an attempt to look human. "I'm not expecting anyone..." he said by way of explanation, making his way to the door. 

 

"S'alright if you were. It's your house." Harry said, but made no move to stand or leave the table. Louis was privately glad. 

 

He didn't bother looking through the peephole, just grabbed the handle and swung open the door while directing a "yeah, but..." Harry's way.

 

Louis froze, hand on the door handle and smile fixed awkwardly on his face. His sentence never got finished. It died in his throat, words sticking and clogging up his voice at he took in who was on the threshold. His brain slammed into overdrive while also falling to pieces, absolutely and completely unwilling to comprehend what was happening here. "Matt?" The question was out of Louis' mouth before he could stop it, all bewilderment and wide eyes.  _Goddammit. Today had been going so well_. He couldn't even tell you what tone it was, probably some embarrassingly gooey mix of hope and sadness and confusion. 

 

But he was, is the thing. He was really fucking confused and sad all the time, and Matt standing on his doorstep gave him some weird fleeting pulse of hope that he killed before it even got off the ground. He tried again, getting some measure of control over his voice, so the words were only a little shaky. "What are you doing here?" 

 

Because this smacked of something out of a bad romance movie, the ex showing up on his doorstep at --he whipped his head around to see the clock-- 10pm on Valentine's day, ready to profess his love or something. Louis wasn't positive, but he thought it happened in Love, Actually, or something like that. And Louis really didn't want to get all hopeful, not after the toe-stubbing incident in the supermarket yesterday, but he couldn't think of any possible other reason Matt would be here.  

 

He still looked exactly the same. Exactly the same as the day he left, like he could jump back into Louis' life and not leave again. He'd fit right back into the hole he'd left in Louis' life, like a missing puzzle piece.  Same checked shirt, dark jeans and heavy boots, same earnest blue eyes and spiky blond hair. He looked good, and Louis took as long as he possibly could, standing and staring, looking and drinking it in, not even caring if it was creepy. (It probably was).  

 

Eventually Matt cleared his throat, snapping Louis' eyes to his face as he said "I, uh-" and cut off, abruptly. His eyes drifted off Louis' face, snapped back. All at once his body changed, back straighter and jaw rigid, taut like a wire.  _Steeling himself? For what?_ "My stuff. Left some here." Everything was wrong with that sentence. His voice was sharp, cutting, efficient. Nothing like the slow, lyrical way he usually talked, not even when he used to get upset. This was something else, but Louis was too tired to try and figure out what, too busy remembering all of Matt's things and where he'd hidden them, jealously possessive and kind of melancholy.  

 

His brain was racing through the flat, cataloguing all the things and where he'd left them, how much they'd be missed. The books, and the socks, and whatever else like that, were fine to go. Louis wouldn't miss them too much. But the sweater, squirreled away in the corner of his sock drawer? That wasn't moving. Not for anything, not for Matt, and especially not for this weird upset version of Matt.  

 

Belatedly, he realized that he was still just standing dumbly in the doorway and Matt was still just standing awkwardly on the landing, a placid smile on his face. Also that it was Louis holding up the conversation. "Uh, sure, okay, come in then." He was spluttering, tripping over his own syllables. Making sense of the weird cacophony in his head was not high on his list of priorities. So he let his arm fall weakly from the doorknob and took a minute step back, an invitation for Matt to come in.  

 

Except he didn't. His face twisted up "Oh, are you sure I'm allowed?" His tone was sugary, mocking, and now Louis' head just hurt. It was kind of spinning, slowly revolving around a list of the same questions:  _why is he here? Why now? What did that mean? What did that MEAN? Why? What? How?_ Which was exhausting, and he was so far beyond in the mood to deal with the headache it was creating. 

 

"Did I or did I not just invite you in?" He tried to inject some of their old levity into his voice, but it fell flat. Everything was funny, everything was normal, this was banter. Or that was the theory. Maybe if he believed it hard enough, the needles would drop out of Matt's tone and the ice would melt from his own; this whole conversation was a farce, and Louis was one confusing response away from just slamming the door, wiping the slate and telling Matt to come back tomorrow. Or never. 

 

And then It happened. The Thing made its way out of Matt's mouth, and Louis was just so...unaware things could even take this turn that the words didn't register. Not at first. Matt took a couple of steps forward, getting right in Louis' space like he used to right before they made out. Some annoying muscle memory of Louis' made him tip his head up a little, rising on his toes like they really _were_ about to kiss.

 

Which only made the next words that much worse. A killing blow. Matt's voice was low, low enough it was basically a whisper, edged and dangerous, like it'd used to get right before they'd fought, "so, you've already gone and fucking replaced me, huh?"   

 

Matt straightened back up, eyes wicked and triumphant. He wanted a fight. Louis was reeling, didn't even know how those words could have meant anything, not to him, not to Matt. 

 

What.

Just.

What. 

 

But apparently it did mean something, at least to Matt, because Matt was looking at him with those blue eyes, still coolly disdainful, a little hurt lacing the edges. Louis wasn't even sure where to take the conversation, really. Like, how could he have possibly looked any more single, dressed as he was in a shirt that hadn't been washed in probably a week, greasy hair laying flat on his forehead, and joggers stained with--he didn't even know. Lots of things. Where on earth was Matt getting the impression Louis had replaced him? 

 

He just really didn't know. Apparently he was supposed to, because something in Matt's expression shifted, dropped and got a little harsher. Louis was so busy processing this, trying to puzzle out what those knitted brows could possibly mean, that he barely registered the light footsteps padding on the floor behind him. Harry was getting ready to leave. So that'd leave just him and Matt alone, better if they were about to have an argume-- _Oh._  

 

_Oh._  

 

There was someone else in the flat with Louis. Louis, who looked as messy as Matt had ever seen him. If Matt didn't know that Louis had spent the last age being sad and wallowing (which he didn't, because Louis was not about to look pathetic or reveal weaknesses on Valentine's Day in front of his ex boyfriend) he might think this was a sign of Louis' comfort with that someone. Someone who Matt would never have seen before.

 

It made sense.

 

It was preposterous, but to a wounded and upset Matt, it might've been just plausible enough to hurt. And here was Louis, looking like an oblivious asshole over it. S _hit._  His chest constricted and abruptly went numb. It was just so confusing, is all. Louis didn't even know where to start unravelling the explanation, how to untwist "I'm lonely and ordering food alone at midnight on Valentine's" and "It's not what it looks like" and "I miss you" and "Yeah the delivery boy's fit and nice to me, but it's still only you" without sounding exactly how he was, needy and desperate and just a little bit broken.  

 

Neither of them needed needy and desperate right now. Not when they couldn't go back, couldn't undo six months of happy followed by two months of broken up and hurt and lonely. So Louis stayed silent.  

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis watched Harry pick up his coat, watched Harry give them a wide berth and step into his shoes, over in the corner by the sofa. Matt's eyes were still roving over Louis face, wordless, imploring, searching for answers. And it seems that he got some; he must've noticed the shift in Louis' attention, away from a distraught and frankly confusing (ex) boyfriend to the leaving delivery boy behind him. And somehow, that unhappy-unpleasant ugly expression of Matt's that part of Louis just wanted to kiss away, stroke gently at with his thumbs until it morphed back into the pretty boy he'd loved, got even worse, took on a more malicious edge. Harry wasn't even leaving yet, definitely not out of earshot, when Matt said, "You have." His chest heaved, in and out, erratically. Louis focused on that, already feeling sick, head a jumble of confused pain. And then the axe fell. "Should've known you were a whore."  

 

Louis was pretty sure those weren't words. They weren't words Matt was allowed to say. Matt, who held him when he cried and whispered endearments when Louis even so much as hinted at being uncomfortable, would never say those things. This was a different Matt, some ugly off-script version that threw words like knives and watched them stick.  

 

And Louis didn't know what was happening, the room was spinning, everything was spinning out of his control so fast he could barely hang on, barely keep himself upright. So he was completely fucking helpless to do anything but watch as Harry slipped the nametag pin off his shirt and into his pocket and came striding back into their space, spine ramrod straight and poisonous smile deadly. His shoulder slammed into Matt's as he strode over to position himself at Louis' side, arm coming up to wrap around his waist.

 

Louis thought he might've gone numb, might've been dying or dead already but he just couldn't keep himself upright alone, so he didn't think twice about falling into Harry's side, blatantly using him to keep himself up. He refused to think, refused to care how this looked to Matt, Matt who apparently thought so little of him. Louis felt so, so small, and kind of flattened, like Matt had taken those big heavy boots of his and stomped all over Louis' ribcage, flattening it, turning him concave.  

 

Harry, though, Harry was a fucking godsend. He stood straighter, suddenly seemed to fill the entire room, and when he spoke it was with more clarity than Louis had ever heard. Gone was the lyrical, syrupy, honey-slow tone Louis was used to. His voice was like a fucking hammer, loud and crashing right through the obnoxious veneer Matt was doing his best to hide behind. "I really think it's best if you leave now, mate." His tone held no room for argument, and Louis was really glad he'd never been on the wrong side of a fight with Harry. Also he was glad the focus was off of him for a moment. 

 

Somehow Matt found it in himself to argue back. "Who even are you? Where the fuck did you come from?" Somehow this was an important part of the discussion. Louis just really wanted the discussion to end. 

 

Harry had some interesting ideas, it seemed. "His boyfriend. And it's really none of your business, is it? I asked you to leave." Like, that was news to Louis. He wasn't exactly going to  _complain,_  though, not right now. This was probably good. He didn't look like a loser, eating all that food by himself on Valentine's Day, and it did explain why Harry's arm was wrapped around his waist. Not that Matt deserved any explanations at this point. 

 

Matt didn't seem to be getting the message. Or some irritating masculinity of his was refusing to let him submit to challenge, instead insisting he be as much of an asshole as possible in one night. "And who's gonna make me, exactly? You?"

 

Harry seemed to be a loss for words, mouth gaping open slightly. He recovered quickly, though, and smiled in a slow, dangerous way that promised retribution. “If I have to, sure.” He sounded so _nonchalant._

 

Matt rolled his eyes. He turned to Louis, letting out a deep sigh. “Lou, tell your new boy-toy if he opens his mouth again I’m going to punch him.”

 

So now this conversation was _grandstanding?_ They were talking about the contents of Louis’ fucking _life,_ the reason he’d been in shambles for the better part of a couple months, and Matt was trying to prove he was more of a badass than Harry? _Really?_

 

Louis was so, so done. He closed his eyes slowly, took a deep, pacifying breath. Then exploded. 

 

Harry went to say something (probably indignant but valiant), a few syllables rumbling their way up from his chest, but cut off before they got anywhere. Louis ripped himself away from Harry's side to stand on his own two feet for a moment, energy coursing through him. "Matt, go the fuck away!" Shouting expended some of the weird energy, vibrating deep in his bones. It felt a little like bravery and a lot like fear, but he had to say  _something._  "Get the hell out of here, right the  _fuck now!_ " Louis was about two inches from Matt's nose by now, quivering and short but full of fucking  _fire._  Like hell could this asshole come in here, say that shit about him, and then try to make fucking demands like he had any place. Matt at least had the decency to look taken aback. That didn't stop him, though.

 

"I still want my stuff." He was pouty, obstinate, like a fucking five year old. Louis absolutely could not  _believe._  He could feel himself shaking, stomach coiled in knots, and for a few seconds, all he could see was red. With quick, decisive steps, he strode to the table and picked up a plate, his back to Matt. 

 

The room was silent for a moment. Louis could feel both pairs of eyes on his back, and everything was hinged on what he did next.  _Finally,_  he'd regained some control. Just that thought brought a smile to his lips, albeit a twisted one. 

 

He could take the easy way out here. Let Harry make him leave. That wasn't really in the cards, though, but Louis gave himself a moment to entertain the possibility, just breathe. I _n, out. In. Focus. Deep breaths. Out. Imagine smashing Matt's face in._

 

In... he was waiting to see if Matt might make a smart decision here. Just leave. It would be so easy, make everything less painful... no? 

 

Out. 

 

Quick as anything, he spun around, lifted the plate above his head, and chucked it. Not really  _at Matt,_  per se _,_  but close. Enough to make him freak the fuck out, and to get the goddamn point across. He closed his eyes almost immediately after, stomach turning and hands quivering and vision blurring and world absolutely splintered. 

 

Three sounds happened at once; the plate crashed onto the floor with a high tinkling sound, Harry gasped and probably took a stumbling step back (if the hurried but stumbling footfalls were anything to go by), and Matt got nervous. "What the  _hell,_  Louis!?" 

 

Harry's voice piped up again, slow and amused, "He did ask you to leave." His voice was so flat, utterly devoid of concern for Matt or the smashed plate that Louis almost wanted to laugh. Laugh at how absurd it was, how fucking insane and exhausting everything about this was.

 

But laughing would just lead to an emotional breakdown, and they could’nt have that, now could they?

 

All at once, the uncapped energy fizzing through Louis bubbled over, sizzling through him, cold and shaky. He opened his eyes and took a couple stumbling steps back towards the two men. He could barely see, but he still knew Matt's face was ghostly white, eyes wide and terrified. Fucking  _good._  Louis couldn't be bothered to care about the tears sliding down his cheeks or the way he was barely upright, especially not when Harry caught him again. Matt followed up, weakly, "...I'm getting the fuck out of here." All the fight seemed to have left him now that he actually felt threatened. 

 

Louis found he didn't care if Matt came back or not. The sweater could burn in hell. Also he was pretty sure he could feel the radiating heat from Harry's glare as it pushed Matt out of the flat. 

 

Matt slammed the door on his way out, hard enough to shake the frame. 

 

Louis crumpled. 

 

His chest was being squeezed in a vice; each breath shooting agony between his ribs. His breathing was fast, panicked, and he had no control over the way it bordered on hyperventilating. The tears he'd been holding back for what seemed hours now fell freely, obscuring his vision and stinging his eyes, carving hot trails down his face. Shame went out the window as he sobbed, openly and brokenly, bringing sweater-covered hands up to muffle his mouth. The only reason he didn't fall to the floor was Harry. 

 

Harry was pretty unperturbed, all things considered. He didn't seem overly shocked or uncomfortable, just stood mutely and let Louis cry, stroking his hand soothingly up and down his back. Louis took full advantage of this, turning to bury his face in Harry's shirt, going way past the boundaries they might've had as casual friends.   


"S-sorry" he mumbled out, half choked between the wracking sobs. Harry seemed to understand, though, just humming quietly but never pausing his ministrations, seemingly  content to let Louis cry himself out. 

 

It was refreshing. Liam or Niall would have tried to force it out of him. They’d claim the talking was therapeutic. Only with the best intentions of course, and Louis loved them for it. But this was really nice too.

 

After what felt like an age of Louis standing there crying into Harry's shirt, his breathing calmed enough to be called hysterical as opposed to full-on panic attack. harry interpreted this as a signal it was time to begin a therapy session, which, uh. Yay. "I don't mean to sound insensitive, because you're obviously upset, but he seems terrible."  


This drew an ugly snort from Louis, something like a laugh ripping out of him. He just barely managed a weak, “Yeah” before burying his face in Harry’s shirt once more. He hated how small and weak his voice sounded. Hated how vulnerable and gross he probably seemed, but didn’t care enough to do anything about it just then. As long as Harry was going to continue to let him, Louis was going to stay there. Buried in his shirt, hiding from the world.

 

“C’mon, let’s go sit down” Louis felt rather than heard Harry speak, the rasp of it rumbling through his chest right next to Louis’ ear.

 

He expected to have to detach himself from Harry, awkwardly scrub at his eyes and sidestep around the fact that he’d been crying. Then they’d sit a respectable distance apart on the sofa, fitting for people who were what could very loosely be defined as friends, no matter what Harry’s snot-soaked shirt said. Louis would give a glossed-over version of his sob story, Harry would simper where appropriate, and after an achingly awkward conversation Harry would depart.

 

Louis sighed, already psyching himself up to detach from Harry’s side when Harry started moving. As in, didn’t remove his arms from around Louis but still took shuffling steps backwards, pulling them in the direction of the couch. They were still a good metre and a half from it when he just kind of…flopped over.

 

Somehow his giraffe legs propelled them all the way to the couch. Or rather, propelled Harry to the couch. Louis landed on top of Harry. More or less. His head was still tucked quite comfortably in the divot between Harry’s neck and shoulder. This was probably getting weird.

 

“He’d never been like that before” was the first thing that came out of louis’ mouth. Instantly he hated the way he’d said it, defensively. Like he was holding it up as proof; _‘look I don’t make terrible life choices! I’m an okay human!’_ ‘He was never…bad.” And that was about all he could manage, really, before the tears made a reappearance. Less spectacular, this time. But still there, and still irritating.

 

Louis’ whole being felt wrung out, he had no idea where the tears were coming from.

 

Harry seemed to be mulling things over, no doubt confused as to how to deal with this. “…so you’re saying it was all a misunderstanding?” His voice took on that same timbre teachers’ did when they were tricking you. It halted the buzzing activity in Louis’ head, made him pause to think.

 

“I…uh…well, it never…I mean…” somehow he had no answer to this. It _had_ been a misunderstanding, hadn’t it? If Harry hadn’t been there, Matt never would have been driven to say those things. “If I’d been alone, he wouldn’t have said that.”

 

“That’s true,” Harry hummed, “but he still said it. Shows what he thinks of you.” It sounded so simple, when put like that. Which just, _fuck._ Absolutely ripped everything apart.

 

The dam inside of Louis broke, opening floodgates of resentment and anger and venting. “I just…how the fuck? How the fuck could I have been in a relatipnship with someone like that? And not even known it?” A deep, wracking sob came out of nowhere, tearing through his already fucked vocal cords and shaking his chest. Something was shredding deep inside him, that’s what it felt like He did his best to continue, “and then he just…comes in? Like that? And absolutely fucs everything up> Like I was doing so well today, you saw,”

 

To which Harry let out an approving “mmm,” rubbing an arm up and down Louis’shoulder in a way that was fefinitely not fdistratcing at all, before louis continued,

 

“And even though tofay is valuientines I was actually enjoying myself, I was gonna have a good night! Like, how dare he!” The rant ended, all the fight draining out of Louis, his chest heaving and throat sore and raw. He probably wasn’t cabale of crying anymore, but a low thrum was starting up behind his eyes, and he already knew he’d have a hell of headache tomorrow.

 

Harry shifted just a little under Louis, scrunching his nose in a way that ouldve meant miffed but smostly just came across creaming _adorable_. “What if I’d actually been your boyfriend, though. He was…rude.” That little pause said a lot. It said things like _asshole_ and _selfish_ and maybe a little bit of ‘was I way off there’ and carried a lot of ‘are we gonna talk about it’?

 

The answer, Louis decided, was a resounding no. They woul talk about it…later? Never? Never seemed like a good option. So took the conversation and ran right past the topic. “yeah, I mean you were just delivering—” something occurred to him, something that made him sit up straight (or as straight as he could without leaving Harry’s grasp) and thump his hands against Harry’s chest. “Harry! Your shift! You’re working! Why are yo still here?” That line of argument might’ve been a tad more convincing had Louis not been lying literaly on top of harry, keeping him from going anywhere. Which was quite nice really, and why did he want harry to move again?

 

Harry let out an amused huff, warm air tickling Louis’ cheek. “You know it’s like, 11, yeah? Most people are done ordering food by now.”

 

“Heeeeey…” Louis wasn’t sure but he was almost positive he’d just been insulted.

 

“Oh shush,” Harry swatted at him rolling his eyes (louis desperately searched for another word than) fondly, “You were my last delivery; I’m done for tonight.”

 

Well. That was nice to know. Momentary worry gone and moment of clarity over, Louis slumped back against Harry’s chest and resumed his self-pity and wallowing. Fucking Matt and his insistence on ruining everything.  


Sullenly, he said, “fucking asshole had to be all theatrical, too. Showing up late on valunetine’s? He knew what was up, this isn’t fucking _Love, Actually_.”

 

Harry whined. “I love that movie. Don’t insult it by associating with him.” Louis snorted, albeit wearily. He couldn’t find it in himself to form a response that wasn’t screaming or crying. The absolute insanity of the night was beginning to take its toll on him; his brain was done screaming and flinging itself around at 1000 miles per hour, now all he wanted to do was sleep. His eyelids started drooping. Harry was _warm._ And nice to lay on.

 

Harry must’ve noticed it too, because through the slight haze fogging Louis’ vision he could just about make out harry shifting a bit to lean back towards his ear. “You really ought to eat. You bought all that food, shame to waste it.” Louis remembered the food now, remembered laughing with Harry about how much of it there was. And now it was all going to be wasted.

 

This was inexplicably funny; suddenly louis was giggling, and then giggling turned to full blown laughgin, so hard his sides ached and tears started rolling their way down his cheeks again. Really, where was all this moisture coming from? His head was going to murder him in the morning.

 

“I—I broke a p-plate” He sobbed through hysterical cry-laughing. And somehow this was the icing on the cake, the final straw, whatever the fuck. Everything was terrible and in shambels and broken like that goddamn plate, and the delivery boy was somehow still in his flat consoling him and probably thought he was insane. He probably was insane. Nothing about tonight made any sense. Everyhting was terrible. Louis was so, so tired and so, so overwhelmed.

 

For his part, Harry just seemed perplexed or amused rather than terrified and ready to call the police. “You did. Not that important.” Louis only cried harder, and the small coherent part of his brain was yelling at him, banging its fists on the walls and screaming about how he was making an absolute tit of himself. Maybe that was why he had a headache…

 

Somehwere through the foggy haze, he registered Harry saying “I so can’t leave you right now…” quietly. He probably wasn’t meant to hear it.

 

Harry sat them both up, slowly and carefully. “Right. Louis, let’s get you to bed.” Once more, Louis expected to have to detach himself from harry and walk to his room. But harry was warm, and comforting, and put up with his insanity. That was a stupid idea. Also his vision was blurring over, tears making everything look like foggy, obscure shapes, so really walking unaided wasn’t all that practical. Harry didn’t even preface or address the idea, just put an arm around his shoulders and started half-carrying him towards his room.

 

Louis was still sobbing, hiccupping gasps breaking through every so often as a reprieve. Time kind fo faded in and out, his hysterical brain refusing to cooperate. The walk to his room could’ve been a thousand years or five minutes, he couldnve have told you.

 

There was harry’s arm, a warm, solid wight around his shoulders. And a nice smell, like cinnamon or something? And there was the floor, under his feet. And then there wasn’t the floor, and instead something soft and cool pressed against his face. _Bed._ It felt nice, calmed his fevered skin a little bit, gentle and soothing.

 

And then there was something warm and solid stroking down his cheek. A hand? Maybe? He wasn’t really sure anymore, everything all sleepy-slow and dreamy. A low murmur started up next to his ear, but sounded a thousand miles away. Harry’s voice floated down to him, unintelligible but comforting all the same. He hummed, more or less, hoped it counted as enough, and moved away from the noise.

 

Then all that was left was the warmth of his bed. Sleep. It laid soft, soothing fingers on him, coming on like a slow fog. Everything faded out to black.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis awoke, eyes sore and kind of crusted shut, which, ew. He wondered idly for a few seconds why his head hurt so badly, pondering just what he’d done to deserve this torture, before it all came crashing back. Harry bringing food, them laughing over food, Matt coming in, Matt saying The Thing, him throwing the plate, him breaking down, Harry helping, oh _god, Harry._

 

Louis groaned, buried his head beneath a pillow and resolved never to come out again. Ever. Under the burning clarity of broad daylight and with several hours of sleep behind him, everything from the night prior was just about enough to make him want to jump off a bridge. The last time he’d had a breakdown like that, it’d been about coming out, and the only person who’d seen him was his _mother._

 

_I did kind of come out to Harry yesterday, though,_ the thought flitted through his head without permission, lifting one corner of his mouth into a smile.

 

After several more minutes of wallowing, he registered a few things. One, his phone was buzzing rather annoyingly on the nightstand. Two, his mouth tasted fucking _awful._ Three, he was really, really hungry. (Not eating dinner tended to do that to a person, hmm).

 

Blearily, he cracked his eyes open and swiped vaguely in the direction of the table his phone was on. A dull _thunk_ a few seconds later let him know it was on the floor now. Groaning again, he smacked vaguely at the floor until he picked it up. Then he saw what was on the screen and considered returning it to the floor, going back to bed and starting over tomorrow. The day was already a write-off. He was going to die.

 

A series of texts from Zayn:

 

**10:32 PM**

_Spending the night at Nialls don’t worry abt me_

**9:44 AM**

_Holy fuCK I have some shit to tell u!!_

**9:45 AM**

_Wake up right now !_

**9:45 AM**

_Right now I’m not kidding!_

**9:46 AM**

_LOUIS_

**9:46 AM**

_LOU_

_  
_ **9:46 AM**

_LOU_

**9:46 AM**

_LOU I KISSED NIALL_

**9:48 AM**

_Jk but you still rly need to get up_

**9:48 AM**

_LOUUUUU_

**9:48 AM**

_Guess who’s in town !!_

**9:48 AM**

_LOUIIISSSSSS_

**9:49 AM**

_LOUIS MATT IS BACK HOW SHOULD I HANDLE THIS_

**9:49 AM**

_Niall wants to hang out_

_Like old times or whatever_

**9:50 AM**

_He’s here for the week apparently, break or whatevs_

**9:50 AM**

_Louuuuuuuuuuuu is this gonna make it worse I need to know !!!_

Louis had zero chill. Absolutely none. No way to deal with this, not at all. His brain was going at a thousand miles an hour, debating telling Zayn, _not_ telling Zayn, telling Harry, hiding for a week or ten years, yelling at Niall, crying to Liam, yelling at Matt, jumping off the balcony…the possibilities were endless.

 

He debated for a while what to tell Zayn, thumbs dancing awkwardly over the screen. He typed and retyped an account of the night previous, trying to figure out which portrayal made him not seem like an unhinged maniac, before sighing and deleting it all. That was impossible.

 

Instead he went with:

_Ill figure it out later let me think_

And shutting his phone off.

 

He dropped the phone on the bed next to him, staring blankly at the ceiling. _What the fuck am I going to do now?_

 

His stomach rumbled in reply.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

When Louis stumbled half-dressed and half-asleep into his kitchen at not-quite-ten in the morning, nursing a hell of a headache and cursing the universe as a whole, the _last_ thing he expected to see was Harry whistling to himself as he poured two mugs of tea.

 

Well, not quite. The last possible thing was probably like, Zayn wearing a rainbow tutu and singing showtunes (not that Louis would know _anything_ about that), but this was close.

 

What exactly was he supposed to do? Well. There were a lot of available options, including calmly asking what Harry was doing in his kitchen. The sensible one was calmly asking what Harry was doing in his kitchen. Louis went with that.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he screeched, shooting his hands up both to cover his chest and scrub through his wrecked hair, as if either of those could accomplish anything at all. Harry jumped about a foot in the air, nearly dropping both mugs he was holding. _Why was he holding tea??_

Tea sloshed all over the floor (and Harry’s feet), and Harry hissed loudly. “Shit…sorry.” Louis said, more quietly this time.

 

Harry smiled wanly, “I take it you don’t remember saying I could sleep here?” He gently set the mugs on the counter, moving slowly as if in a pacifying gesture. Like he was calming a spooked animal.

 

And, huh. Fuck. No, Louis did not remember that. “Fuck. Don’t remember that, sorry. Again.” He dropped his hands back to his side. Somehow, Harry seeing his nipples was not high on his list of things-to-care-about-right-now.

 

Smile more resembling a grimace by now, Harry said, “Makes sense. You were pretty out of it.” Stepping gingerly over the puddle of tea on the floor, he made to sit at the table. Louis followed suit, sliding awkwardly into the seat across from him. The sun streamed in through a window to their left, lighting half of Harry’s face rather oddly. It was nice to look at, though, and certaintly better than thinking about everything mortifying he’d done the night previous.

 

“It was like two by the time you fell asleep, so I…made you go to bed.” A flush was spreading its way across Harry’s face and down his neck, which Louis thought was unfair on two counts. One, because if _anyone_ should be embarrassed here, it was Louis; he was fucking dying as the previous night’s events came back to him. And two, because Harry blushing like that was kind of distracting. Or very.

 

Louis wasn’t thinking clearly around the headache.

 

“…said I could sleep on the couch…” Louis tuned back in. Harry was looking at him expectantly. _Had he missed something important?_

“Uh, well, that’s fine. I mean, you’re already here,” he gestured at the table between them, feeling his own cheeks heat up. God, this was horrible. “just scared me, s’all.”

 

A corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up, the dimple making an appearance. “Yeah, I got that.”

 

“Heeeeey,” Louis whined, “I’m emotionally fragile, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

 

“I’ll make fun of anyone who sees me and screams—”

 

“Yells!”

 

“—I’m not that intimidating.” Harry finished, taking no notice of Louis’ interjection. Well, fuck, he had him there. It wasn’t like Louis could say Harry was terrifying; it’d be a blatant lie.

 

The conversation kind of dwindled for a moment. Louis scratched at the back of his neck and looked anywhere but at Harry, and Harry folded his hands stiffly in his lap, staring at the table.

 

Louis broke first. “Okay, how about I go put a shirt on and we’ll try that again.” To break the sharp-awkward mood that was forming, he said, “Like adults.” He nodded curtly, a mock-serious frown on his face. Harry played along, standing up stiffly. His seriousness was betrayed by his dimple. Louis was a much better actor.

 

“I’ll go make more tea.”

 

“See you in five.” That was all. Louis strode from the kitchen as confidently as one could with no shirt on, hair that resembled a bird’s nest, and the memories of everything from the night before weighing him down.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

Louis’ second entry to the kitchen was much more subdued than the first; no tea was spilled, both boys were wearing shirts, and no screeching was necessary. “Hey,” he offered, sliding into a seat across from Harry at the kitchen table.

 

Harry slid him a mug of tea, face a lot more serious than it’d been when Louis left before. Louis wrapped his hands around it, holding exactly as tightly as was necessary. He just enjoyed holding tea, that was all.

 

“So…I guess we have a lot to talk about.” Harry said eventually, and while his voice was eager, his face was anything but. He looked like he’d really be anywhere else, which was fair. Hurt a little bit, but was entirely fair.

 

Louis understood, though. There was literally nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant he didn’t have to relive the events of him having, like, three breakdowns all at once. Especially not to the person that had already witnessed it. And apparently, remembered things about it that he didn’t. Nope, no thanks, not ever, ugh.

 

He cleared his throat, figuring he should just bite the bullet. “Look, mate. I feel like a right tit, you’ve no idea. Last night was…not my best. Sorry you had to see that.”

 

Harry offered a small smile and lifted one shoulder, “I’m not bothered, can’t exactly blame you for being upset.”

 

Louis snorted. “Yeah, but it was…” he trailed off, not wanting to go into it. Harry knew _exactly_ what it was. There was really no need to relive it at all, and Louis would rather do literally anything else. He didn’t feel like looking at Harry, and found a particularly interesting spot on the wall to hold his attention instead. There was a crack in the paint, high up near the ceiling. _Fascinating._

 

Eventually he chanced a glance down towards harry again, only to find he was looking at him like he had two heads. “Louis. Please stop beating yourself up over it. Literally why are you apologizing, I would’ve done exactly the same thing if I were in your situation. That was actually the most horrible I’ve ever seen one human be to another and you’re apologising for how you reacted to it? Please, don’t. it was fine, really.” Harry’s face was earnest, eager, and very serious. “And, ugh, he was _so_ condescending too, like everything was beneath him. I hate people like that, even when they aren’t being assholes. He was the _worst._ Worst.” He paused. “Like, I get it. But seriously don’t worry.” He flashed a reassuring smile.

 

Louis sat back, slightly stunned. Was this boy made of sunshine and kittens or something? Who was really that selfless that they let a virtual stranger cry all over them all night and the insisted that it was totally fine? All in the name of righteousness (where did _that_ come from? Harry was rubbing off on him). Who did that? This guy, apparently. Louis’ mind was blown.

 

He was still absolutely mortified, but Harry was looking at him with such fierceness and an overeager determination that he decided to just drop it. There was no way he was winning that argument. And if Harry was determined to not make it weird, then Louis would not make it weird either. This would work. Also it meant less time spent reliving what was easily the worst night of Louis’ entire life so far.

 

“Fine.” It was clipped, and curt, but it was about all Louis could manage. His brain was a little preoccupied trying to figure out who on earth this boy was, how he could be so…nice. It was baffling. Louis was friends with _Liam,_ embodiment of motherfucking candyfloss _,_ and Louis’d still never met anyone like this.

 

Harry nodded, satisfied. He sat back with a thump, all the fight apparently having gone out of him. Louis returned to staring at the wall, wondering where the hell they were supposed to go from there. _Now what?_

 

The moment of rest didn’t last long before Harry interjected, though, taking it in a direction Louis certainly wasn’t expecting. “I actually…uh, feel like I should apologize, too.” And now Louis’ mind was reeling, because Harry looked like a kicked puppy. Or maybe like he’d kicked someone’s puppy. And Louis couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly caused that. Harry hadn’t done anything, he’d been an angel all night.

 

Like, Louis would’ve literally died in a puddle of his own tears if it hadn’t been for Harry. Harry definitely didn’t need to apologize. “…I’m sorry for saying I was your boyfriend, it was wrong of me to just assume like that, and kind of invasive, and…” Harry was saying, and _oh, yeah, that. That was a thing that happened._ Louis tuned out after that, mind reeling.

 

_Really?_ Harry’s face was all scrunched up and sad looking, like he’d really screwed up. Which was laughable, given that he was apologizing for the very idea that’s been Louis’ one winning point last night. And Harry was still going on, probably apologizing for Louis’ hypothetical virtue or something equally noble, but Louis couldn’t hear it over the way his brain was still in shock, blood rushing in his ears. This boy was _absolutely_ made of sunshine and rainbows and kittens and unicorns and ice cream. Like, there was no way.

 

“—I’m going to stop you there. Seriously. Everything you’re saying? Stop. Matt thinking I had a boyfriend was literally the only good part of last night.” Louis hoped his voice sounded as firm to Harry as it did to him; he really wanted to stress this. This was a very important point. “Even if he hadn’t said those things about me, it would’ve gone horribly wrong.”

 

Harry looked pained. “You can’t know that for sure, it jus—”

 

“No, Harry, I would’ve gone right back to him and never even known he was like that. That’s not any better. Don’t apologize.” As much as he wanted to scream at the memories, Louis was also biting down a grin. This _boy._

 

“But I should’ve asked…” Harry’s voice trailed off, eyes downcast. _We can’t have that, now._

Louis snorted. “What, just stop mid-argument and go ‘hey, Louis, is it okay with you if I pretend we’re boyfriends?’ Yeah, that would’ve gone real well” he cracked a grin, aiming it full-force in Harry’s direction. Harry seemed to perk up a little, one corner of his mouth lifting.

 

“But wasn’t it weird, though?”

 

“I mean, it was a little, but it was also the smartest thing you could’ve said. And it worked; it was bloody brilliant.” Harry smiled at that, like a full-on smile, so Louis kept going. He _had_ to reassure Harry on this. Of all the horrific messes last night, that had not been one. “I could barely stand up by then, I wasn’t about to do anything about it.” Harry’s smile turned a little bit pained at that, which was less pleasant. Understandable, though, and Louis winced, wracking his brain for another way the conversation could go. Anything to get away from the topic. Especially if it was making Harry look like that.

 

He could re-evaluate later just _why_ he was so preoccupied with making sure Harry wasn’t upset. Probably because Harry’d done it for several hours last night, making sure Louis didn’t pitch himself out of a window or something…

 

Brows furrowed, Harry proceeded to bring up the question that would kind of dictate the rest of Louis’ week. “But now he thinks we’re together, what do we do about that?” Which, hmm, was a good point.

 

“I mean, it’s not like I plan on seeing him aga—” Fuck. Matt was gonna come back. At some point, he was gonna want to get his things back. And Louis was gonna have to talk to him while that was going on. Just that simple thought put his chest in a vice, white-hot bands of panic searing into his skin and keeping him from breathing properly. Everything was terrible. “Fuck. He’s here for the week.”

 

Harry’s eyes went wide. “He _is?_ ”

 

“My friends texted him. Actually, they want to hang out with him. Don’t know how to handle that, either. But,” Louis could hear it, his voice had gone all clinical and flat. Factual. He flailed his hands vaguely, hoping to communicate with the simple gesture _I literally can’t handle anything at all right now._

 

“Well, fuck.”

 

“Indeed.” They both took a long breath, staring contemplatively into space. Louis sipped at his tea.

 

An idea happened. He immediately wanted to set himself on fire. He had no idea how to ask what he was thinking, and it was possibly the dumbest idea he’d ever had. Just thinking about it made his palms sweaty and mouth dry. Instead of voicing it, he took to staring at Harry. Justification? None. Gratification? Instant.

 

Harry’s brows were wrinkled slightly, eyes clear but not as bright as Louis’d seen them be before. His mouth formed a tight little line, and his hands were clenched around the cup so hard his knuckles were turning white. He looked…angry? Tense? Nervous? Contemplative?  Louis wasn’t sure. Even with all the negative emotion clouding his face, Harry was pretty. Which was irritating; boys weren’t generally pretty. Like, Harry had jade green eyes and the pinkest, fullest lips and these long, tapered fingers and it wasn’t…feminine, per se, but it was definitely pretty, and _wow_ Louis was having a lot of stupid thoughts this morning.

 

His brain continued circling like this for a while, spouting off successively terrible ideas and thoughts, none of which he could voice. So, when harry voiced more or less the same thing that Louis was actively trying to avoid thinking about, it was quite the shock. Enough of a shock that Louis whipped his head around, whole body jolting so violently that he sloshed tea over his hands. _Ouch._ “Well, we can’t exactly tell him it was a lie.”

 

Louis wasn’t so sure. Well, he _was_ sure, but he had to give Harry the option here. An out.  “…We can’t?” He hoped the hope in his voice wasn’t as present and desperate as it sounded like it was.

 

Harry’s voice was slow, methodical. He was visibly mulling things voer, brow furrowed and lower lip caught between his teeth. “No use proving him right a day later, yeah?” His eyes darted up to meet Louis’ before immmeditaly flicking over to the wall behind his head.

 

Clarification was needed. Immedaitely. Louis had to know if they were on the same page, if they were somehow in the same alternate universe where these kinds of ideas were the things people came up with. “What’re you suggesting?”

 

“…we… _say_ we’re dating…for as long as he’s still here…” Well, fuck. They’d had the same idea. Louis wasn’t sure how to handle this, wasn’t sure what Harry wanted, _wasn’t sure._ Everything felt wrong-footed, off-kilter.

 

“It _is_ only a week…” He drawled, like it was an obligation, a time commitment he was debating. Harry was just doing this because he didn’t want to leave Louis in an awkward position, and Louis could respect that. It was the only way it made sense.

 

So he made sure to frame it like something Harry could get out of, and entirely his choice. “I mean, not too much to do, probably.”

 

Harry hummed, nodding a little. He still wasn’t looking at Louis, instead at the wall. Louis couldn’t have that. “Hey, look at me.” Harry did, and Louis shifted a little under the full force of his green-eyed gaze. “You don’t have to do this. It’s okay.” He offered a small smile, hoping he sounded as genuine as he felt. He did _not_ want to force Harry into this out of some kind of backwards sense of obligation.

 

 

Louis wasn’t expecting the force of Harry’s response. His gaze finally flicked over from the wall to face Louis, hitting him in the face with the intensity of his look. “Louis, people like him don’t deserve any kind of victory,” He straightened up in his seat, eyes hard and determined. “He was literally the worst I’ve ever seen another human be to someone and you definitely didn’t deserve it. So there’s no point in letting him think he’s gotten some sort of ‘victory’” at this he made obnoxious, exaggerated air quotes and rolled his eyes, “over you just at the expense of making you feel worse. I’m not so terrible that I’d throw you under the bus like that. Especially not when it’s my fault you’re in this mess in the first place.” He blew out a long breath, jaw set defiantly, daring Louis to argue. 

 

Well, wow. He had a point. He had several points. “Good point.” Somehow the argument felt closed. That was it, now. Harry’d decided. And who was Louis to go against that? Against the force of that conviction? Not a chance. _Honestly. He belongs up on a stage somewhere, making speeches._ The was something mesmerising about the way Harry spoke, it was galvanising and loud and brash and a complete 180 from his usual methodical drawl. He knew _exactly_ what he was saying.

 

“...are we really doing this, then?”

 

“Seems so.” They both nodded, faces tight and jaws set seriously, before Louis’ stomach rumbled. Harry burst into giggles. _Well, there’s that mood ruined._

 

“How about we eat, and then we can talk more?”

 

“Good plan.”

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Louis darted back to his phone as soon as he dared, fumbling to unlock it as quickly as possible and express to Zayn just how deeply he’d fucked up in the span of a few hours. Like, this was possibly disastrous the more Louis thought about it.

 

Over food, they’d pointedly avoided any serious topics, choosing instead to kind of…get to know each other. Because somehow in this weird tumble dryer of a relationship they hadn’t yet gotten to learn much of anything about each other. Jumped right into the deep end, they had.

 

Harry was…great. He was witty, and caring, and as Louis had already figured out, basically made of sunshine and rainbows. But he had this edge to him, something that was unafraid to let things get messy, stir up drama, and then sit back with that mischevious glint in his eye. He had this troublemaking edge to him that Louis respected (because he usually had it too) and was only the tiniest bit afraid of. He gave as good as he got, that one.

 

And it was possibly a disaster because Harry was pretty much oerfect. And there was no was Louis could go a week pretending to date someone who he would’ve loved to date in real life. There was just…no transition for that sort of thing. No way to go ‘hey I know we _were_ faking it but now I want to try for real’ without making it seem like an elaborate ploy. Harry wasn’t doing this out of attraction to Louis, he was doing this because of the righteous need to make Matt suffer. Still great reasoning. Just maybe not what Louis could handle.

 

He was already emotionally fragile, god damn it, he didn’t need this gorgeous boy with the nicest smile and a heart made of candyfloss to come in and tear everything up. Becayse at this point, that was in serious danger of happening.

 

So louis did what Louis did best, and panic-texted Zayn.

 

**10:45 AM, Louis**

_Zayn_

_Zayn I think I fucked up_

_Also I have a solution to the matt thing_

_But I definitely fucked up_

A second later, his phone buzzed with a response. It was suitably irritable for Zayn, even more so because he was annoyed with Louis. That happened a lot.

**10:46 AM, Zayn**

_What the hell did you do_

**10:47 AM, Louis**

_Lots of shit happened last night_

_Uh_

_Matt thinks I have a boyfriend?_

**10:47 AM, Zayn**

_What_

_Did_

_You_

_DO_

Louis blew out a long breath, staring at the ceiling as if it had answers for him. How to explain this to Zayn? Just dive right in, yeah?

 

No. Zayn would murder him. This explanation could happen later and also in person.

**10:48 AM, Louis**

_Loooooong story_

_But theres this guy_

**10:49 AM, Zayn**

_Of course theres a guy GET TO THE POINT_

**10:50 AM, Louis**

_We’re gonna pretend we’re dating_

_Because matt was a dick_

_And he deserves it_

**10:50 AM, Zayn**

_What did matt do ?????_

**10:51 AM, Louis**

_Not important_

_Okay important but hard to explain_

_Tell you when im not scarred abt it_

**10:51 AM, Louis**

_So yes I have a ‘’’’boyfriend’’’’ for the week (until matt leaves)_

**10:52 AM, Zayn**

_I mean I understand but like WHY_

_There were better things u could have done_

_U coulda just gotten niall and I to murder him that would’ve worked_

**10:52 AM, Louis**

_Well I know that NOW_

**10:52 AM, Zayn**

_But u had to be all dramatic_

**10:53 AM, Louis**

_ZAYN I fucekd up_

**10:53 AM, Zayn**

_You’re telling me_

**10:54 AM, Louis**

_ZAYN_

_He’s really hot_

_The guy is really hot_

_Like_

**10:54 AM, Zayn**

_Oh here we goooo_

Louis kind of wanted to laugh. A sharp, twisted feeling was stabbing its way through is chest, making tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He could imagine Zayn’s exasperated huff, rolling his eyes fondly as Louis described his latest fuck-up. If it were in person, Zayn would probably throw something at him, and then follow it up with a good-natured hair ruffle. Louis needed that right about now.

 

He also needed to dig himself out of this hole he’d gotten into. But _how?_ Maybe Zayn would know.

 

**10:56 AM, Louis**

_He’s perfect basically_

_And I can’t handle it_

**10:57 AM, Zayn**

_….how do u do these things_

There it was again, the gentle exasperation that was definitelty punctuated by an eye roll. Louis grinned. At least something was normal right now.

 

**10:58 AM, Louis**

_I DON’T KNOW_

_Tell me what to do ????_

_????_

**10:58 AM, Zayn**

_Fuck I don’t know_

_Date him for real?_

Louis snorted obnoxiously. If it were that simple, he’d already have thought of it. He wasn’t stupid.

 

**10:58 AM, Louis**

_Cant do that_

_He’ll think this was organized_

_Like I wanted to date him from the start_

**10:59 AM, Zayn**

_….this isn’t a romcom what is WRONG with you_

**11:00 AM, Louis**

_Zayn trust me_

_Its not happening_

**11:01 AM, Zayn**

_Then just……._

_Ugh why are you LIKE THIS_

**11:02 AM, Zayn**

_Try to survive?_

**11:03 AM, Louis**

_Ever the optimist, Zaynie_

**11:04 AM, Zayn**

_Like u had a better idea_

**11:05 AM, Louis**

_Fuck offffffff_

Louis groaned, dropping his phone onto the bed. Zayn was useless. That’d pretty effectively wasted a good 20 minutes. Awesome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry, it turned out, took this sort of thing very seriously. _Very_ seriously. He had plans and questions and everything. Say across from him at the dining table, listening to a barrage of ideas and thoughts pour their way out of Harry, Louis half expected him to pull out some paper and start taking notes. Hell, _Louis_ wanted to take notes. This was a lot.

 

After a good five minutes of hand-wringing and muttering to himself, Harry seemed to become aware that this conversation was a two-way street.

 

He jerked his head up, eyes wavering towards manic. “So what does this—” Harry gestured vaguely between them, and Louis made a face. He was going for sympathetic but, terrifyingly, it fell closer to expectant, “—mean?”

 

“Uh, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” Louis said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

 

Harry huffed, rolling his eyes. “What do we have to do?”

 

Hmmm. That was a decent question. With a lot of possible answers. “ _Have to._ Such a strong word. Sounds like an essay you don’t want to do. Having second thoughts already?” If Louis were any more confident around harry, he’d reach across the table and poke at him, totally sell the idea that this was just poking fun and not terrifying insecurity rearing its head. As it was, he just fidgeted.

 

The answering grin was response enough. “Yes, of course, I’m just leaping to get out already.”

 

“Well, you know where the door is.”

 

Louis swallowed hard, staring at the floor. Or the wall. Or anywhere that wasn’t Harry. He hadn’t meant for that to sound so harsh. He also definitely hadn’t meant for the note of _please don’t leave me_ to slip into his voice, even though that was definitely what was happening.  

 

Harry, for his part, reacted admirably. He didn’t say anything about it, just smiled faintly. Like he wasn’t quite sure what was expected of him in this situation. Louis could relate.

 

He cleared his throat. Summoned his nerve. “ _Anyways,_ I guess, like…” suddenly it was difficult to spit the words out, instead he found himself staring into his lap and squirming, face hot as he tried to come up with the words.

 

“I don’t bite.” Harry’s voice was gentle, encouraging.

 

“Well, Matt’s gonna come back at some point, yeah? You have to be here for that. Or I’ll die.”

 

“Duh.”

 

“And other than that? Uh…?” His voice got all high and squeaky at the end there, trailed off into an awkward question that silently begged _please help me fill this in don’t just sit there…_

“Matt wants to see your friends, right? What if I stop by at the same time? Pick you up, or something like that?”

 

Louis let a slow smirk spread across his face. The idea of Matt seeing that, getting all irritated and jealous over Harry, was an amazing one. Suddenly this idea felt less like an awkward date with someone he _really_ wanted to date, and more like playing the prank of a lifetime.

 

He was ready. The grin spreading across Harry’s face, wickedly sharp, said he was too. Louis was _thrilled._

 

“And what if we just hang around each other a lot? Make sure that people know we’re together.” This was totally going to get Louis killed. But he didn’t care. It was a good idea. That was the whole reason he’d said it. Duh.  

 

“…In case he asks around.” That last sentence hadn’t really needed to be there, didn’t particularly fit into the jumbled collection of words flying around Louis’ head, but they’d leapt from his mouth (without permission) in an uncoordinated blob.

 

“Perfect. He’d probably ask some old friends about it. Fits of jealous rage and all.” Harry was smirking. Harry was _loving this._

 

Louis’ grin was about as wide as his face, devilish and full of glee. It was the same kind of grin he always got before glueing Zayn’s shoes to the ceiling or filling Niall’s hairdryer with flour. Matt had—no, Matt was irrelevant here. But _some people_ were scared of this grin, and all the havoc it promised.

 

Harry was just as thrilled as Louis, staring across the table at him with a smirk to rival his own. Louis half expected him to turn, grab a piece of paper, and start diagramming how to booby-trap the flat (complete with a Parent-Trap worthy mess) in case Matt came back.

 

And then Harry brought up the question that slammed Louis back into reality. “How do you feel about PDA?”

 

And _oh. Right._ Because this wasn’t an elaborate prank spelled out by a couple of giggling teenagers to bring about someone’s demise. This was actual real life, stark and cold and a little mushy around the edges, laced with _feelings._ Louis’ feelings. Feelings that were going to get absolutely destroyed if he let this continue. If Louis had any sense, he’d stop right then, call it off in the name of rationality and reason and logic.

 

So naturally, “Pretty great, actually. And he’d know that, since we used to…yeah.” That wasn’t easy to talk about. Or think about. Not with Harry present, not ever.

 

Harry’s eyebrows rose a fraction, but all he said was, “ah.” His face was carefully neutral, Louis could tell. He was hiding something; something was going on behind the scenes that Louis wasn’t privy to. And he found he actually didn’t want to know all that much.

 

“What about you? Thoughts on PDA? Things you won’t do?”

 

Now it was Harry’s turn to look uncomfortable. A flush crept up his neck, staining it pink and making him tug at his collar. _Louis_ wanted to tug at that collar…

 

_That_ was not a thought he was allowed. Illegal. Not happening. Not if he wanted to stay sane for the next week.

 

Harry cleared his throat, coughed, and barely stuttered out “I’m pretty much fine with anything.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “I think it’d be good if we went out a couple times, too, just to get more comfortable around each other.”

 

Louis nodded. “Make it believable. I get you. Don’t want to be all awkward and stiff and give ourselves up right away.”

 

“Wasn’t an issue last night.”

 

A laugh jumped out of Louis’ mouth, startling him. “Fuck _off._ ” He swatted at Harry’s arm. Harry laughed, too.

 

Maybe this wouldn’t be too terrible.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Louis yawned, rubbing his eyes with sweater-paw-covered hands. He cursed, literally cursed, the day he’d ever decided to take an 8:30 class. Who the fuck cared that it’d been like that in high school? High school sucked ass.

 

_Never again._ Who needed Russian Poetry and Playwriting anyways? Not Louis.

 

Well, maybe Louis, if he ever wanted to get that drama degree.

 

_At least it’s pass-fail,_ he thought to himself, wincing as he recalled the look of his grades. They spelled out a long red line in the gradebook, endless 0’s spelling out his mental state between December and February. They were the results of endless missed tests and homework assignments he hadn’t given a fuck about, of not showing up to lectures or dragging himself out of bed just to sit there, bleary-eyed and half asleep…

 

He’d turned in a paper this morning (shittily done and a week overdue, but a paper nonetheless) and the professor had had to visibly contain her shock. Her eyes had gone wide, mouth pressed into a thin little line, before she’d swallowed and smiled, thanking him.

 

It was going to take a _lot_ of work to finish that class. Still yawning, Louis trudged through hallways of lecture rooms, some crowded, some not. Everyone looked just as dead as Louis did, though, which was oddly reassuring. He only looked slightly like he’d rather jump off the building than be in it, which was about the same amount as everyone else. Never mind that one of Matt’s old statistics buddies was also in Louis’ class, and was probably shooting meaningful looks at the back of his head when Louis so much as breathed.

 

That was an exhausting concept. Also, paranoia? Not fun. Not fun at all. But whatever, it was totally okay, Louis was managing. He didn’t need help. He’d texted Harry halfway through the lecture because he’d wanted to, not because he’d wanted to start screaming or anything preposterous like that.

 

Another good quality of Louis’? Extreme denial. It worked.

 

Louis was startled out of thoughts about class and stats-buddy and Harry by the sight of a tall, brown-haired boy leaning against the wall on the outside of the building. He looked _good,_ cheeks and nose pink from the cold, green coat stretched taut against his shoulders and matching his eyes. His boots were made of some preposterous cloth-based substance that was wet from the snow.

 

He was the greatest sight, right now. “Harry!”

 

Harry grinned, turning to face Louis and levying himself off the wall with (totally faked) grace. He was clutching cardboard Starbucks cups in each hand, and extended one towards Louis with a smile. “Hey, Lou,” the petname rolled off his tongue easily and Louis did _not_ shiver, “heard class was rough, thought I’d bring you this.”

 

“I could kiss you, just saying.” Louis’ grin was about a mile wide. He took the cup from Harry, but not before wrapping both arms around his middle. “You bring me coffee. I’m keeping you,” he murmured to the section of Harry’s coat he’d buried his face in.

 

Harry laughed, gently detangling himself from Louis. He started walking, vaguely towards Louis’ flat. They hadn’t gotten more than five steps before Harry slipped his arm around Louis’ waist. He leaned in to murmur “this is okay, yeah?” in Louis’ ear and gave him no time to respond before straightening up saying, quite loudly, “baby, you’re going to freeze to death in just a hoodie!” and poking him in the side playfully.

 

Louis’ stomach dropped. He’d forgotten. For one blissful second between Harry waiting in the snow and coffee and cold-pinked cheeks, he’d forgotten it was just a ruse. Something cold and sick twisted low in his belly when he saw Stats-buddy stare after them and frown.

 

On the other hand, Harry’s arm was around his waist and he’d brought him coffee and called him _baby._ Life was alright. _God,_ this was confusing already.

 

“You’re the best, you know that?” He said quietly, once they were a bit further away from the building. There was nobody around; they didn’t have to pretend here.

 

As if reading Louis’ thoughts, Harry let go of Louis, saying, “I know. That’s why you’re keeping me,” he stuck his tongue out, playfully.

 

Louis squawked. “Hey! One, get back here, I really am freezing,” Harry laughed and complied. Instantly, the warm-flushed-happy, butterflies-glowing feelings filled Louis and he swallowed heavily, heart thumping. His voice was definitely thicker when he continued, “and two, I can’t be responsible for what I say before I’ve had coffee.”

 

Harry just laughed, tugging him closer.

 

Louis was going to die. 

~~~~~~~~

 

**3:42PM, Louis**

_Hey Zayn I really need u_

_Like I know you’re having fun at Niall’s_

_Again_

_But please_

**3:50PM, Zayn**

_Yeah_

_I’ll be over in a bit_

Louis hadn’t noticed how little time Zayn’d been spending at their flat recently. He was always busy, either with this new job of his or helping Niall with homework or hanging out with Liam or going to classes (not that Louis could really fault him for that last one) he’d barely been around in the last few weeks.

 

Not that Louis blamed him. He hadn’t exactly been a joy to be around recently.

 

But it was starting to get weird, waking up every morning to have everything be exactly the same as it’d been when he left it. Every single time. There was no shuffling of sock-feet across the hallway, nobody making breakfast at an actual decent time, no off-key humming or smell of turpentine and splatters of paint on the floorboards.

 

It was lonely.

 

Now that Louis’d dragged himself out of his own head enough to notice what his life was like, it was pretty depressing. Their flat wasn’t large: just a sitting room, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen, but somehow the whole place was covered in dust. The row of houseplants lining the sill in the sitting room? All dead; withered brown stalks drooped over the edges of terracotta pots, curled leaves dotting the floor below.

 

He'd walk the hall, the only evidence that anyone lived there being plates and takeout containers littering the sitting room, and his footsteps echoed. The whole place felt cold and too large; empty.

 

Louis had no idea when the last time they’d played music was. It used to be that every time one of them came home, the other was there, already playing something on the record player that they’d had so long, neither could remember whose it was anymore. Either some indie-pop thing for Louis, or R&B for Zayn.

 

He couldn’t remember the last time that’d happened recently. It kind of sucked. Something had to be fixed here.

 

~~~~~~~~

It was pushing 5 by the time Zayn made it back, the jangle of keys and the squeak-groan of the door opening waking Louis. He’d been dozing on the couch, phone next to his head and TV playing some footie game he was barely interested in.

 

“Hey” Zayn’s voice came from the doorway, and louis sat up.

 

He scratched at his ankle, not looking up. “uh, hey.”

 

“How’ve you—” Zayn cut himself off midsentence, then strode over to the couch, looking down at Louis, dark eyes unreadable. “That’s a stupid question.”

 

A frown tugged at the corner of Louis mouth. “It is, innit.”

 

“I’m…” Zayn swiped a hand down his face, blowing out a long breath. “how are you feeling?”

 

Louis had to resist the urge to laugh. “Shit, Zayn, let’s get a little more rigid-sounding, that’ll be great.” This was ridiculous.

 

Oddly enough, Zayn’s face cleared. He shrugged out of his jacket, flashing Louis the first real smile he’d seen out of him in _ages._ “That’s the first time you’ve sassed me in forever, so…obviously better.”

 

Louis couldn’t hold the laugh in, this time. “Shit, you know me so well, don’t you?” Inside, he was reeling. Just _how_ bad had he been recently?

 

“Always.” Zayn smiled again, running a hand through his hair before turning to face the telly.

 

Beat.

 

For a moment, Louis didn’t know what to say. For the first time in two years of living with Zayn, the silence felt almost awkward, charged, whatever. So Louis did what Louis did best in these situations, and started complaining about his life.

 

“Zaynieeeeeeee, I have so much to tell you.” He flopped dramatically over Zayn’s legs, grinning in that self-deprecating way that always made Zayn give in.

 

But it seemed Zayn had other plans for this conversation. “Uh, same, actually.” Louis was so thrown, for a second, that all he could do was spit out the question he’d been mulling over for a day and a half.

 

“Why don’t you start with where you were last night?” he didn’t mean to spit it out like it burned, but, well…

 

“At Niall’s, I told you.” When the only response Louis gave was a sardonically raised eyebrow, Zayn went on, “I’ve been there a lot recently.”

 

“No shit.” Zayn shifted uncomfortably, coughed, looked anywhere but at Louis. Louis felt his heart drop. Since _when_ were they so out of sync they couldn’t even tell each other things?

 

“well, we’re…kind of….” Zayn trailed off, but Louis could fill in the blanks. The dots connected.

 

Two and two made four.

 

“No _fucking_ way!” He nearly fell off the couch he sat up so quickly, eyes going wide as Zayn blushed. _Zayn, blushing._ Holy shit.

 

“Yeah.” This was a new kind of smile on Zayn’s face, soft and tender and private. _Whoa._

 

But there were more pressing questions than just _how_ Niall made Zayn smile like that. Impressive, yes, but not fully relevant. What was relevant; “How long?”

 

“Yeah that’s the…” Zayn’s face dropped again. Louis frowned, confused. “…that’s the thing,” Zayn continued.  “A while.”

 

“Um?” _Care to elaborate?_

 

Zayn was instantly on the defensive. Louis tried not to let his blood boil. “Do you know how you’ve been recently?” What the _fuck_ did that mean? A protest rose to Louis’ lips, but Zayn barrelled on,  “Man, I’m not blaming you, but you looked like shit this whole time. I’ve been walking on goddamn eggshells, hoping I don’t trip up and break you! Did you think I was really gonna drop that on you when you were like this?”

 

“How. Long.” Louis could not _believe…_

 

Zayn bit his lip. “Six weeks.”

 

Louis sat back on the couch with a thud. “Holy fuck, Zayn.” He closed his eyes for a moment.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re damn right you are.” Louis’ mind was going a million miles a minute, but it wasn’t hard to settle on a conclusion…

 

Zayn started to apologize, eyes downcast and face solemn, when Louis broke in; “I can’t believe I’ve missed out! How fucking spacey have I been?”

 

Zayn must’ve heard the smile in his voice, because his face fucking lit up, and all he said was, “so, you know Neil Armstrong?”

 

Louis laughed, pushing his arm. “Oh, fuck _off._ ”

 

Zayn shrugged and stood up, smile never wavering. “Alright, see you!” he made to head towards the door, but Louis beat him to it.

 

“Noooooo, Zaynie, don’t leave me!” He pouted.

 

Zayn just grinned, flopping back onto the couch and putting his feet in Louis’ lap.

“Have I really been such a space cadet you felt like you couldn’t even talk to me?”

 

Zayn’s brow crinkled. “Dude, there was like, a whole week and a half you didn’t even come out of bed. You wouldn’t even unlock the door.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” There was a memory there, foggy, swathed in layers of darkness and trying-to-forget, but it was there. Zayn went on;

 

“You were sitting there, wallowing over a relationship ending, and I was just supposed to drop ‘hey I’m in a relationship now’ on your head like that?” The breath punched straight out of Louis, head reeling. _Fuck._ It made sense, and his heart threatened to jackrabbit straight out of his chest at the thought of being that vulnerable, that weak. Zayn’s voice cut through the reverie, hard and bitter. “Hell no.”

 

“You didn’t want me going off the deep end.” Louis wasn’t looking at him anymore, gazing hollowly at some space on the wall.

 

Zayn snorted. “You were already fucking drowning, man.” He said it so nonchalantly, but Louis’ stomach flipped.

 

“Uh, yeah,” He said, staring at his hands. A fleeting thought swam through his brain, faking a smile. Make it less terrible. But he didn’t.  

 

Beat.

 

“Oh.” Zayn winced, hissing through his teeth.

 

“I mean, that’s nice to know, I guess. Thought I was doing well.” A small, bitter smile played its way across his lips.  Louis made to stand up, he didn’t know where to, didn’t know what to do other than the fact that every muscle in him was screaming _flee._

 

Zayn made to catch his arm “Louis—”

 

“No, don’t _Louis_ me!” Louis ripped his arm from Zayn’s grasp. I don’t need this right now, or ever, really. I just—” and his voice was cracking, too, throat closing up like a vice. Hot tears started building up in the back of his throat and he swallowed, _hard,_ hoping to force them back down.

 

Zayn just looked taken aback, sitting mutely on the couch. When he didn’t say anything, Louis made a small, disgusted noise, spun on his heel, and marched to his bedroom.

 

He slammed the door hard enough to shake the walls.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis didn’t see Zayn the next day. That was fine by him. The only proof he had that Zayn was still alive was a note slipped under his door.

 

**_Gone to Niall’s. Then class until 5. Probably not back for dinner._ **

**_I’m sorry._ **

**_-Z_ **

 

So it seemed Zayn was in an apologizing mood. Weird, because Louis _wasn’t._ And probably wouldn’t be for a while. He scoffed, crumpling the note and throwing it at Zayn’s door. Let him find it later. See how _he_ liked it.

 

Louis floated around the flat for the rest of the day, doing much of the same as he had for the last couple months. He idly watched tv, stared at some walls, and muddled through a hellish essay for Russian Lit that he didn’t even need to reread to know it deserved a fail. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

He wandered to class, barely aware of his surroundings or what clothes he was wearing, _‘did I even change this morning?’_ The lecture was a bleary haze of a droning teacher, someone talking for an hour about poetry without actually reading any poetry, and Louis avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone.

_Where did all of Matt’s friends even come from? I swear I’ve never seen this many in this class._ Ever since Matt’s arrival the other day, Louis was hypersensitive and massively aware of every single thing that had anything to do with him. It was overwhelming.

 

So he did what he did best in these situations, and panic-texted Harry.

 

**11:25AM, Louis**

H come get me I can’t

His phone buzzed within a minute. Louis could have cried.

**11:26AM, Harry**

Where are you?

 

**11:27AM, Louis**

English building, east campus. Lecture ends at 12.

 

**11:27AM, Harry**

Be right there.

 

As he waited for the lecture to end, staring at the clock and doodling on his papers, Louis wondered when exactly his first resort had become texting Harry for support. Even if he was fighting with Zayn, he still had Niall, and Liam. It wasn’t like he was suddenly _alone_ on the planet, now that Zayn was mad at him.

 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, actually. So he shoved that thought deep, deep down, ignored it for now and resolved to think about it later, when he didn’t have so much to think about.

 

Or, like, never.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Harry was waiting for Louis outside the lecture hall, exactly the same as the day before, down to the wide grin and cups of coffee. Louis responded much the same, too, grinning and flinging his arms around Harry. _“Thank you,”_ he breathed against Harry’s shoulder, so relieved that _someone_ was there for him that he could’ve cried.

 

Harry pulled back, just  a little, to get a look at Louis. They were barely millimetres apart. “Are you okay?” The instinctive response, screaming from the depths of Louis’ brain was _no._

The second thought that came through was _I will be, keep holding me._ He shoved that down too.

 

“Uh…” Louis made a noncommittal noise.

 

Harry’s face tightened, just a little. It was barely noticeable, but Louis noticed. The lines around his eyes deepened, lips thinning. Harry nodded, tightly. “C’mon.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“We could go for coffee, or…you could come back to mine.” Harry’s voice turned up at the end of the sentence, like a question. Louis did his best not to read it like _hope._

The idea of spending one more minute in public was vaguely unbearable. Like, he _could_ suffer through it, if he really had to, but when faced with any other option…. “Let’s go to yours. Is that okay?”

 

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.”

 

A small kernel of warmth crackled in the centre of Louis’ chest, the same place where he’d been carrying that ache for a while, now. It wasn’t gone, not remotely, but it lessened somewhat. It’d been doing that a fair amount recently, lifting the pressure a little and letting Louis breathe. Like a hand reaching into cold, murky water, Harry was always there to drag him out of everything he’d been wallowing in.

 

Wordlessly, Louis linked his arm through Harry’s, walking away from the uni building. He stepped very carefully, sure to avoid the dark ice patches blooming on the tarmac.

 

Harry, in his motherfucking _heeled boots,_ did not. And went flying.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It was approaching 10pm, and Louis was running out of excuses as to why he couldn’t go back to his apartment. Not any excuses that he’d admit to himself, anyway. Or to Harry.

 

It was approaching 10pm, and Louis’ phone dinged. He half expected it to be Zayn, with another half-assed attempt at an apology. Already rolling his eyes, he clicked the power button. And nearly dropped his phone.

 

Seriously, this had to be some kind of record; _Highest number of earth-shattering texts received in one week, awarded to: Louis’ Tomlinson’s shitty life._

It was from Niall, of all people.

**9:26PM, Niall**

_hey man u might wanna…not b home tmrw night…_

**9:26PM, Louis**

_Fuck, why not?_

**9:26PM, Niall**

_bc Matt came over_

_Zayn just…let him in :/_

**9:27PM, Louis**

_Uh_

_Wha ttheFuCK_

**9:27PM, Niall**

_hes pissed_

_both definitions_

**9:28PM, Louis**

_U ask him. I should be the pissed one_

_I aM THE PISSED ONE_

**9:28PM, Niall**

_yea I get u man zayns bein a dick rn_

_ill yell at him later promiseb_

**9:29PM, Niall**

_but ye he invited matt back over tmrw_

**9:30PM, Louis**

_Well that’s just LOVELY thx niall_

**9:26PM, Niall**

_ye love u m8_

****

So Louis did what he had to do, and trudged out into the hall to confront Harry with this latest disaster. Harry would definitely know what to do.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

**8:39PM, Harry**

_This is such a good idea be proud of us_

**8:39PM, Louis**

_i know right we’re assholes_

**8:40PM, Harry**

_Not like he doesn’t deserve it_

_But still_

**8:41PM, Louis**

_His ex who hes trying to get back or possibly just dick around with, leaving the house to meet his new bf??_

_Perfect_

**8:42PM, Harry**

_Im an evil genius_

Louis couldn’t suppress a laugh at that. Maybe it was a stress reaction, maybe it was genuinely funny, maybe Louis was enjoying plotting to take down his evil ex like a preteen girl. Whatever it was, this was fucking hilarious and he was definitely enjoying himself. Harry _was_ an evil genius, and this plan was all his. It a perfect blend of vicious, vindictive, and--.

 

A truckload of bricks fell on his head mid-giggle, breath catching in his throat and laugh dying. He didn’t know when he turned into this, when he rounded the corner from broken and sad to plotting and devious. It was a good change, though. Matt deserved a little bit of devious interference in his life. Louis was all too happy to provide.

 

He turned his phone off, spinning it absentmindedly between his fingers, lost in thought. There was something about this, something a little off. If he’d really still been stuck on matt, if he were really still worried about what Matt thought, a plan like this would’ve scared him, made him nervous and fidgety and unsure. Instead, all he felt was happy bubbles churing in his stomach. Maybe, though, maybe he deserved a little bit of happiness, relief from the crushing sadness he’d been dragging around with him for months.

 

Harry was all too happy to be an accomplice. Louis pretended that totally didn’t matter.

 

Louis’ phone buzzed again.

 

**8:44PM, Harry**

_Should get a photo of his face when u leave_

**8:45PM, Louis**

_Mmmmm maybe_

_That’ll be soon probs, when r u getting here?_

**8:46PM, Harry**

_Bout 5 more minutes_

**8:47PM, Louis**

_Sweet._

Louis was a dickhead. He knew he was being a dickhead, but he also knew that he didn’t care, and that it was well-deserved for once. It wasn’t that far above his usual pay grade of cruel-harmless pranks, either. Just a _tad_ more vicious _, but…_ Matt was definitely deserving.

 

He didn’t really know when confronting Matt stopped scaring him, but he was really glad. He was really glad he could walk through the living room, Zayn’s and Niall’s and Matt’s eyes on him, to where Harry stood in the doorway smiling, and not feel like he was about to die of sheer terror. Deer-in-the-headlights was not a good look on him.

 

He was really really glad that when Harry murmured “Hey, babe,” in a way that was _supposed_ to sound private but was designed for everyone in the room to know he’d said it, Louis didn’t have to panic. He found he doesn’t want to swing around, stare down Matt and make sure he knew what Harry’d just said. The pressing need to be on top in this argument, to rub Matt’s nose in it, was just…gone. He just kind of wanted to…enjoy himself. Revel in the syrupy sweetness of the moment.

 

Matt be damned.

 

It was liberating. And when Harry slung an arm around Louis’ waist and his stomach dropped, he didn’t spare a single thought to the blond boy sitting with Niall and Zayn, glaring daggers at the back of his head. He was a little preoccupied with making sure the stomach-swooping didn’t become a regular thing. And that nobody ever knew it was happening.

 

Not so difficult, right? This was what those acting skills were for. Louis totally had this.

 

“You alright, Lou?” Harry asked as soon as the door closed. “You’re a little red.” He still hadn’t removed his fucking arm from around Louis’ waist, but instead just kind of…turned in a little so he was much closer to Louis than he realistically needed to be. Louis kind of wanted to die.

 

He wanted to die even more when Harry brought a hand up against the side of his face, eyes wide and concerned. “You’re not getting sick, are you?” He tucked his lower lip between his teeth, a little wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. And _fuck,_ that was so unfair.

 

It was unfair because Louis had to fight himself not to lean into the touch, sink into the satiny-cold feeling of Harry’s hand on his face. He gave himself exactly half a moment to do just that before pulling away abruptly, coughing and disentangling Harry’s arms from around him. This was _not_ what they needed to be doing at the moment. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, coughing again, trying to rid his throat of the gravel-roughness it’d developed out of nowhere. “Just a little nervous.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened understandingly. “Shit, yeah, that can’t have been easy.”

 

Louis nodded absentmindedly, focused on a spot somewhere above Harry’s left ear. “Just remember he’s a dickhead.” Harry continued, all encouragement and eager smiles.

 

Louis didn’t want to think about Matt anymore. He just wanted to forget about the awful particulars of this situation, how his head and his heart had become so confused. So instead he opted hum noncommittally, and change the subject, “Where are we going again?”

 

“How about back to mine?”

 

“Movies again?”

 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll even let you have most of the popcorn this time.”

 

“That happened anyway.” Louis raised a sceptical eyebrow.

 

“Yeah but now it won’t be because you’re stealing it.” Harry was laughing at him. Unbelievable.

 

“Are you calling me a thief?”

 

“You’re the one that said it.” The smirk pasted across Harry’s lips grew, and honestly? Louis couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss him or punch him.  

 

The silence stretched, and Louis didn’t bother responding other than to smack Harry upside the head. Gently. Sort of.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis flung himself down on what had, after a mere one visit, become _his_ designated spot on Harry’s couch. It was the nice corner one, where he could curl up against the arm of the sofa and fall asleep. It was also _just_ close enough to the coffee table for him to put his feet up. Not that he’d ever admit that part to Harry.

 

Harry did much the same, propping his feet up before snatching the remote and flicking on the TV. Louis contemplated battling him for the remote and changing the channel, just because he could. Didn’t seem worth it, though.

 

They sat through a movie in relative silence, only stopping when Harry slipped to the kitchen and brought back snacks (which Louis definitely stole all of), or when Louis had some comment to make, or popcorn to throw at the idiotic characters, and maybe when he tried to throw a book at the screen (totally justified), only stopped by Harry grabbing his arm.

 

Maybe it wasn’t that silent.

 

And then, Louis got bored.

 

“Harryyyyyy,” he whined, flinging himself dramatically towards the man in question, turning on the puppy eyes as he did. “I’m boredddd.”

 

Harry laughed. “Of course you are.” But he didn’t look away from the TV.

 

“Pay attention to me.”

 

“I am.” A corner of Harry’s mouth crept up, twitching. He was fighting a smile.

 

Louis grinned, and clambered across the cushions until he was next to Harry. He started poking Harry in the side, punctuating each one with a word. “No. You. Fucking. Arent.”

 

When that didn’t elicit a response, he went for the good-old five-year-old’s method. He jabbed his fingers into Harry’s sides, “Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harr—”

 

Harry sighed to himself. “Oh, for the love of…” And then Louis wasn’t really sure what was happening until a few seconds later, and then he died several times over. Somehow, Louis was flat on his back in the middle of the sofa, Harry’s legs on either side of him. Louis couldn’t do much to stop Harry from pushing him flat into the cushions, the bigger man’s weight holding and pinning him there, hands above his head. He did try, though, wriggling and trying to slip his hands to Harry’s grasp.

All he accomplished was making Harry lean far too closely over him, staring him down. Louis felt his pulse skyrocket. He was sure Harry could hear his heart pounding.

_Uh._

Louis increased his escape attempts, writhing and bucking under Harry, twisting his wrists to try and get a hand free. Harry shoved him back down with almost laughable ease.

“Louis,” Harry said lowly in his ear, hot breath caressing his neck, and _oh._ Louis felt shivers spasm their way down his spine. It took everything Louis had in him to keep from jerking his hips up towards Harry’s, doing it again and again and listening to Harry saying his name just like that over and over. It took a lot of self-restraint not to moan behind Harry’s hand.

Harry continued, “I swear to God, if you don’t stop, I’ll...” He trailed off. Louis whimpered low in his throat, he couldn’t help it. It was a tiny fledgling of a sound; Louis only knew it had happened because he was the one who made it. If Harry heard, he didn’t react. As it was, Louis fixed Harry with a challenging gaze and said, “oh, yeah, you’ll _what_?” His voice was lower, too, rough around the edges. He fought off another shudder.

It may have been a trick of the light, but Louis swore he saw Harry’s eyes darken, pupils dilate. Louis decided it must have been the light, the sun _was_ setting behind them, after all. But then Harry was leaning closer again, so close that Louis could feel the warmth radiating off of Harry, just barely feel the press of Harry’s chest against his, _oh…_

A loud, angry noise sounded behind them, ripping through the atmosphere. They both jumped; Louis up toward Harry, he was just barely gratified with the press of Harry’s body against his for a moment before Harry jumped off the sofa. When his blood stopped pounding so loudly that it was all he could hear, Louis registered Harry saying, “phone call, sorry,” before slipping away to his bedroom.

_Fuck._

Louis dragged a hand down his face, not bothering to move from where Harry’d left him. _That_ had certainly…happened. Louis didn’t really know what to make of it. His ragged breathing was too loud in the space, the forgotten movie still playing quietly on the TV. _There is no way that just happened._

Harry’s voice, still rough and lethal, played on a loop through his mind. He shivered just thinking about it, heat curling low in his stomach. His wrists burned with the phantom of Harry’s touch, the strong, sure grip biting into his skin. Louis was honestly surprised he hadn’t died. He blew out a long, slow breath, dropping his head into his hands.

_I’m so dead._  

~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry swung the bedroom door open, stepping into the hallway. Louis jolted, snapping his head up and making to stand from the sofa. Harry waved him back down with an easy grin. “Sorry about that, friend had some questions about a project.”

“Ah, okay. No big deal.” Louis straightened, doing his best at feigning nonchalance. It was fine. Everything was fine. It seemed they weren’t going to talk about whatever that had just been, and that was fine. Everything was just peachy.

A strange restlessness overtook him, made him jittery. He stood up from the sofa, shaking his hands out at his sides. “I’m gonna make tea, is that okay?” He didn’t wait for a reply, pushing past Harry and into the kitchen.

Louis reached for the mugs on the shelf with shaking hands and fully ignored the slight rattling noise they made as he pulled them down. Harry spun to face him, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. Louis swallowed, hard, and turned away.

_Why and how is he allowed to look like that._

He flipped the kettle on, rummaging to find a spoon and some sugar. Harry liked sugar in his tea. Fucking abomination, that.

"So, the party," Harry’s voice came from behind him, making him jump, almost dropping a spoon. He spun to face him, seeing a mischievous grin working its way onto his face. It was tentative, though, a hint of shyness around the edges. Louis wondered what he could possibly be thinking, to have a smile like that.

"What about it?" Louis didn’t sound as wary as he knew he should. Not when he knew what a mischievous smile like that could do. Knew it form the way it frequently made its way across his own face when he was planning something. He knew it from a million miles away, though would deny it profusely if asked.

"Well, Matt’s gonna be there, yeah?" The kettle clicked, and Louis turned back to the counter, carefully pouring some water into each mug.

His voice was still a little uneven, damnit. “Um, yeah. That’s kind of the whole point of you going too.” He did not turn to face Harry, not again. Mostly because it was a lot easier ot just stare down into the mugs and pretend everything about this was totally normal, totally fine.

“Yeah...” Something in Harry’s voice made Louis turn around, put the spoon down. Harry’s smirk had deepened, dimple popping out. Louis wanted to touch it. With his _mouth._

Goddamn. He took a deep, steadying breath. He was even more confused now, totally unsure of where this was going, but not yet wary. In hindsight, that would be his first mistake. “So? Out with it, Harold.”

It was Harry’s turn to take a deep breath. “Well, what if we...showed him how in love we are?” His voice turned up at the end, went all high and squeaky, barely there. Louis got just the barest idea of what was going on, and it made his blood pound.  _Surely_  not, surely Harry wasn’t suggesting...

Because part of it, part of the way to interpret that sentence, was completely obvious. Like, duh, they were going to pretend to be in love. That was the whole idea. But Harry knew that, and Louis knew that too, so clearly there was more meaning going on here than just that. And the implications were staggering.

“...if we’re all over each other, he’s bound to leave you alone.” Harry’s voice filtered through the haze of thoughts swirling in his brain.

_Shit._

Shit shit shit. Louis’ pulse picked up. It was genius. Louis knew what Harry meant, and it was the smartest thing either of them had suggested since this whole charade started. Knew it by the sardonic tilt of his eyebrow, coupled with the unsure way he stood, crossing and uncrossing his legs.  And it was exactly what Louis would have suggested, too. Genius.

Harry would know that, as well. Would know that Louis was a devious, scheming asshole after several days in his company, and that Louis would jump at the chance to humiliate Matt. So Louis couldn’t back down.

But he had to hear him say it. “What did you have in mind?" He chewed his lip, wondering if Harry would be brave enough to spit it out.

A beat. Louis went back to the tea, only to remember that he still needed to add milk. It took a moment’s contemplation to decide whether or not abandoning the safety of the counter, the relative stillness he was clinging to that hid how shaky his legs were, was worth it. In the end, he decided it was, mentally screaming _fuck it_. None of this was supposed to be bothering him, after all. This was just a plan, a devious plot to get back at Matt. It didn’t mean anything to him, as far as Harry was concerned.

It didn’t mean _anything,_ he reminded himself bitterly. Not bitterly. Everything was fine, after all.

Louis crossed to the fridge, feeling rather as if he were crossing no man’s land. It wasn’t intentional, the way he veered slightly closer to Harry that was necessary.

They were on a precipice here. There was still time to back down, say he didn’t want to go to the party, flee and pretend this idea hadn’t been breached. Louis could do it, but really it was Harry’s job.

"Don't laugh." Harry’s grin was gone, though the teasing light still sparkled in his eyes.

"I would never," Louis began, bringing a hand to his chest.

"Oh, you might." And Harry let another grin surface, this one a little more feral.

He took the plunge, and Louis was frankly impressed he’d gotten there. With the shade of red Harry was turning, he knew it wasn’t without effort.

"We have to be convincing, is the thing. And, like,” Louis saw Harry’s throat bob as he swallowed, “...make out?” Louis’d known it was coming, but still he nearly dropped the milk when the words finally made their way past Harry’s lips.

If Louis’ blood wasn’t roaring in his ears, he’d be amused with how quickly Harry’d gone from cocky to quiet. As it was, he barely kept himself from falling over, head swimming with the imagining. Harry’s lips, pink and soft and probably so, so warm, pressed against his own. Tangling his fingers in those curls and tugging lightly, pulling his head back and peppering the column of his throat with bruises.

_Whoa._

Louis crossed back to the counter where the teacups were, twisting the cap off the milk. He carefully kept his back t harry, not wanting him to see whatever was written across his face. “That’s a…good idea.” He was impressed with himself, keeping his voice that steady.

Harry started walking, came over to lean against the counter right next to Louis. “Yeah, but…”

“I swear to god, do you know how to finish a sentence?” Louis elbowed him lightly, cracking a grin. And, just like that, the mood shifted, away from something sharp and staticky, zinging between them with every breath, and instead became amicable, comfortable. Harry smacked at him, whining. Louis danced away, cackling, careful not to spill the milk.

“So, for the second time.” Louis set down the milk, turning to face Harry fully and setting his face into a grim line. “Out with it, Harold.” A smile twitched at his lips, but he fought against it, holding it back.

Harry took another deep, steadying breath, but kept his gaze locked on Louis’. “We should practice.”

Several thoughts jumped to the front of Louis’ mind, not least of which being “holy _fuck_ okay sure” but what made its way out of his mouth was an undignified “uh.”

Harry flushed again, but held his gaze. “If we are going to…we need to look like we know wat we’re doing. Otherwise it’ll look stiff or uncomfortable.” Louis kind of wanted to laugh at Harry’s reluctance to _say the words,_ even as he tried to convince him to do it.

_Well, shit._ Harry had a good point. The drama major in Louis knew it was exactly true. People were always uncomfortable physically for the first few tries before they loosened up and became more natural. He voiced as much to Harry, who nodded, self satisfied.

“So, when should we do this?” Louis’ voice was a little shaky, now. But he figured that was only fair; Harry was pretty clearly affected by this too.

“Uh, next Tuesday. When do you think?”

“Rude.”

“Just…c’mere.” Harry rolled his eyes, a fond smile playing across his lips. He hooked his fingers in Louis’ belt loops, gently pulling him closer until they stood only centimetres apart. Louis’ blood roared, pounding in his ears. He licked his lips, unable to keep his eyes away from Harry’s. Distantly, he was aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the thudding of his heart. But that was all far away. This, Harry right in front of him, leaning ever closer, was _right here. Right now._

It was…soft. And sweet, and barely more than a peck. Surprisingly chaste, for how they’d both been building this up for the last few minutes. Louis brought his hands up to rest on Harry’s shoulders, rising on tiptoes to press closer. Neither of them moved.

Slowly, Louis drew back.

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t really form any other words. It hadn’t been…not a letdown, exactly, but very hesitant. They were both holding back.

“Don’t think that was quite what we were going for, huh?” Harry smirked, just a little.

 Louis glanced at his feet. “Probably not.”

“So, like, how do we—” Harry was probably about to start picking it apart, detailing the how and why of everything that’d gone wrong. Make it analytical, tactical, completely unemotional. And Louis just couldn’t have that.

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. In one fluid movement, faster than he could think twice or take it back, he placed his hands on either side of Harry’s face, pulled him closer, and connected their lips.

It was better almost immediately. The press of their lips was firmer, more insistent, and when Harry opened his mouth slightly, everything shifted. _Oh. Shit._ They were exchanging breaths, everything soft and slippery, still tentative but definitely _going somewhere._ One of Louis’ hands wound up into Harry’s hair, tugging down to get better access at his mouth. In response, Harry nipped at Louis’ lip, drawing out a high, needy sound. Louis didn’t even have time to be embarrassed about it before Harry covered the sound with his own deep groan. A shudder wracked Louis’ body.

_Fuck._ Louis’ heart was pounding so loudly he could barely hear, and he could do nothing other than haul Harry closer, sealing their bodies together. Harry seemed to agree, pressing forward so hard that Louis took a few stumbling steps back until the countertop dug into his back.

Suddenly, Harry’s hands were _everywhere,_ roaming up and down his body, carding through his hair, squeezing at his waist, before settling, one on his waist and one against his cheek. It rested there, surprisingly gentle for what they were doing. And then Harry’s tongue slipped into Louis’ mouth and Louis stopped noticing anything at all. Everything was lost to the hot wet press of mouths and lips and tongues and skin on skin.

Eventually, Harry drew away. Their lips parted with an obscene, wet sound. Louis used the last shred of his self control to keep from following him, instead disentangling his hands from Harry’s hair and letting go.

Harry looked… _fuck._ His hair was mussed, eyes hooded, lips bitten red and spit-shiny. And it’d only been a short kiss, a few minutes at most. _Probably._ Louis hadn’t really been paying attention to the time.

“Better.”

“Better?” Louis couldn’t keep the ire out of his voice.

“That’s what I said.”

Louis could not believe this. That’d been fucking incredible, and they both knew it. “I’ll show you _better,”_ he said, and before he had time to contemplate how terrible of an idea it was, he was dragging Harry’s mouth back down to his. Harry came easily, and Louis just barely caught the mischievous gleam in his eye.

_Bastard._ The bastard had been playing with him. Well, Louis would show him.

Louis wasted no time on slowness or gentleness this time, going immediately for the kill. He latched his mouth around Harry’s bottom lip and sucked _,_ and _oh_ , there was that sound again. Louis grinned, doing it again. He kept up, pressing forwards, letting a smirk grow, winning.

A warm, bubbly feeling crept up from the centre of Louis’ chest, spreading through him until it filled every inch and he couldn’t help the grin that crept up.

Until Harry retaliated with a sharp nip against his lip, pressing even closer.

There was nowhere else for Louis to go, and the counter was digging quite painfully into his back, so he didn’t think twice before hopping up to sit on it. Their lips disconnected for a moment, but before Louis even caught a breath, Harry was there, pressing between his spread legs and licking into his mouth. Louis whined, gasping at the sensation. He pulled back, just for a moment, catching his breath. Harry wasted no time, dropping his head to nose along Louis’ jaw, Louis huffing out a breath and trying to keep from whimpering.

He definitely failed when Harry started sucking a bruise into his skin, right at the sensitive spot where his jaw met his neck. His hands flew into Harry’s hair, tugging and holding him there. He hooked his legs around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer still. Not that there had been any space between them before. Harry responded by biting gently, pulling away slightly. His breath ghosted over the tender, achy skin, and Louis nearly cried out.

Harry lifted his head, pressing a gentle peck against Louis’ lips, a small smile tugging those dimples into view. Louis didn’t move, too frozen in the proximity as they rested their foreheads together, gentle wisps of air puffing between them.

~~~~~~~~

 

Louis couldn’t really see much past the people right next to him, swinging hair and a pulsing beat and metallic dresses and swirling light. Didn’t really want to see much, either, brain a little fogged up with whatever was in his cup and a lot distracted by Harry.

 

Harry was all…Harry. Long and lean and intoxicating, with those fucking painted-on jeans and transparent shirt half unbuttoned. Really, what was the point of even wearing a shirt? Harry should’ve come shirtless. _That would be nice…_ Louis could see every one of his tattoos, the swallow tips peeking out from under his collar, butterfly smack in the middle _._ Distracted, he spent most of the time imagining all the ways he could peel back that shirt and see how far down they went… _no, bad. Bad idea. Stop that._

 

But then he looked up, away from Harry’s body, and it got _so much worse._ His hair was fucking wrecked, like someone’d been carding their hands through it (Louis totally volunteered, if the opportunity arose). It’d somehow got glitter in it, adding a little to the mystical-magic-enticing thing Harry had going on. His pupils were blown so wide from the dark that he looked _gone._ He looked like sin. Debauchery. Well-fucked. Whatever the adjectives were. It sent a shiver down Louis’ spine, heat curling low in his gut whenever he looked. Which was a lot.

 

Enticing.

 

So yeah, Louis couldn’t see much more than a few feet in front of him. Which meant that when Harry fixed his eyes on a spot somewhere behind Louis and said “He’s over there. Just like…watching.” Louis had no choice but to trust him. Even if he bothered to turn around and check he wouldn’t have seen anything past the people dancing behind them. He didn’t bother; no need to give Harry the height-joke ammunition.

 

There was no need to specify who the ‘he’ was; Harry’s face was a thundercloud, brows drawn tight and lips pressed into a thin line. Matt was fucking…here. At this party. This shouldn’t have been a surprise; Liam had told them he was coming. It still was. It was a surprise Louis wanted no part of.

 

And Matt was fucking watching them. Louis’ blood iced at the thought of facing him again, that cold jittering starting up in his arms again.

 

“Fucking creep,” Louis directed a snort into his cup, tossing the rest of whatever-his-drink-was back. It burned. Like, a lot. Probably tequila. Louis fucking hated tequila. He flailed his empty cup somewhere in the direction of Harry’s face; “I want another.” He was totally doing this unbothered thing right. Flawless execution. Harry suspected nothing.

Harry made a low agreeing noise. Louis wasn’t sure if it was about the Matt thing or the more-drinks thing. Louis didn’t care. Thrusting a wrist in Harry’s general area, he cried “come get more drunk with me!” and didn’t wait for Harry to reply before turning and shouldering his way through the crowd. Harry grabbed onto his wrist, hand easily wrapping the whole way around. This sent a shudder through Louis. He ignored it faultlessly. Harry suspected nothing.

 

When they got to the drinks table, Louis inspected a couple filled glasses that had been left out. “What’s in these?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“Hmm.” Louis downed half of one, screwing up his face in disgust. “I hate it.” He took one more swig before passing it to Harry; “Finish it for me?”

 

Harry still hadn’t let go of his wrist. Louis wasn’t sure why he noticed this; maybe it was the warmth. Everywhere Harry’s fingers connected with his skin felt like fire, tingles and warmth flying up his wrist. It was nice. Kinda distracting, maybe. Harry took the glass, holding the stem daintily between two fingers.  He drained it in one long pull.

 

Louis did not watch him drink it. He wasn’t a creep. No.

 

Harry set the glass down on the table with a decisive _thunk_ , eyes a little brighter and cheeks a little pinker than they had been a second before. Louis had to hand it to tequila; it might taste like shit, but it did its job.

 

“You look drunk enough; let’s go dance.” Harry’s voice was a low murmur in his ear, and _wow_ was the tequila working because everything went slow and syrupy around the edges. Harry tugged  on the wrist he was _still holding, uh,_ moving back towards the densely crowded floor.

 

The crowd shifted a little. Louis just barely saw the top of Matt’s head for a moment, eyes dark even from across the room. Still watching.

 

“Sure,” he threw on his best flirty smirk, cocked his hip and batted his eyelashes. He could practically feel matt bristle, all the way across the room. He laughed.

 

Harry tugged him into the dancefloor.

 

It could’ve been minutes or hours as they danced, pulsing light and speakers making his bones vibrate. His focus dimmed and narrowed, spotlighting Harry in the centre of everything. It wasn’t the kind of song for it, but Louis grabbed his hand, twirling under his arm. _Oh, that felt nice._ Everything went wobbly and he tipped his head back, savouring the feeling. So he did it again.

 

And again. Over and over and over, laughing and spinning. A tornado of light and colour with Harry as his anchor. Louis couldn’t see anything, now, other than those green eyes and blinding smile. Sometimes he held up his arm, and Harry slipped under it, grinning. That was nice, the closer closer closer movement and Harry’s shoulder brushing his as they pulled apart again. But never that far. Always within touching distance, hands locked together. The song changed, getting faster, and Louis went with it, everything blending together. Someone ran past, laughing, an oil slick of black hair and shock of white-blond. Screamed over the music came a wobbly, “oh, just kiss already!” and a push on Louis’ shoulder.

 

Unsteady, blurred-together feet tripped forward, stumbling, right into Harry. Strong arms came up and around his shoulders, keeping him from landing face first on….yeah. “Hey,” he slurred out, grinning upwards. The rest of Harry’s face was in view, now. Nice.

 

That mouth grinned down at him. Louis knew if he looked up, those green eyes would be sparkling too, pink cheeks tinted with how much dancing they’d been doing. But he didn’t look, couldn’t tear his eyes away. Harry’s mouth moved around the words as he said, “careful, there,” in that slow, deep voice and squeezed his shoulders, grounding him. Louis’ heart raced, pulse roaring in his ears. It drowned out the bass, somehow. And then the smile dropped, mouth lifted up and out of view, and Louis chased it with his eyes, _had to_ follow. “He’s…still there..”

 

… _who?_ Louis had to shake his head, squinting at nothing to concentrate. “Ugh,” his mouth said for him. Or at least, that’s probably what he said, lips a little numb with all the tequila swimming in his veins and Harry clogging up his brain.

 

“Do…do you remember…the plan?” Harry’s voice was slow, now, too. Honey-trickle replaced with molasses and an octave lower. Louis shivered.

 

_The plan…_ it took a second. His stomach turned over, heart jackrabbiting straight out of his chest. _Fuck, yes,_ he remembered the plan, remembered now why he’d gotten so utterly wasted so quickly. Because he couldn’t _handle_ this. His eyes snapped to Harry’s mouth, pink and plush and probably tequila-flavoured. This was going to kill him. “Mmmm” he mumbled, eyes stuck on Harry’s mouth. He couldn’t look at the rest of Harry right now, not if he wanted to keep his sanity.

 

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay,” was all he said before he straightened up a little. He brought a finger up under Louis’ chin, bringing his eyes up to his face. “Louis,” he murmured, so quietly Louis wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to hear. _Fuck._ There was a reason Louis hadn’t been looking at his face. His cheeks were rose-tinged and hair absolutely _fucked._ And his eyes, holy hell. They were blown wide open, pupil covering everything except a thin ring of green around the edges. Louis was going to die.

 

Harry’s fingertips just barely grazed his neck, and it felt like _fire._ Louis couldn’t breathe. His chest was rising so rapidly there was no way Harry couldn’t see it. There was no way Harry couldn’t tell.

 

But if he could, Harry didn’t say. He just took a step closer, legs and chests and arms touching and Louis was burning, burning and drowning and hypersensitive and he didn’t know where to look first, everything too much and not enough and he wanted. Wanted to pull Harry even closer, shove him away, run a hand over everywhere he wasn’t already touching and yank even harder into the places they already were, just…wanted.

 

Harry’s breath ghosted over his lips, a millimetre from Louis’, and Louis couldn’t take it anymore. This was so much, too much, not enough, he had to do _something._ He slipped a hand to the back of Harry’s neck, tangling in the curls there, and pulled Harry’s mouth down to his.

 

The entire world collapsed and fell away, folded down into a single point, while Louis’ brain spun out into orbit. It was impossible; his brain had to be lying to him. Like, he’d watched the whole thing start, had pulled Harry into him, but still, there was no way he was actually kissing Harry. There was _no way_ it felt this good. But then Harry did this thing with his teeth, sinking them into his bottom lip and pulling a little, and _oh, okay, that’s pretty fucking real._ All he could think was a continuous loop of _HarryHarryHarryHarry, Harry’s lips, Harry’s teeth; Harry’s tongue oh holy shit…_

And _shit,_ Harry was a phenomenal kisser. This wasn’t the chaste peck that Louis had imagined for this when they’d planned it out (even with how that had turned out), it was…it was… so much. Louis wasn’t even sure if he could blame the tequila for the way his legs felt shaky. Harry kissed frantically, diving all in. he was just as overwhelming as usual when he kissed, hands roaming frantically, a mess of lips and teeth and hitched, gasping breath. It felt desperate.

 

Desperate for what, Louis didn’t know, and didn’t bother wondering as Harry did this thing with his tongue that had him gasping, his other hand flying up into Harry’s hair. Louis felt Harry’s grin just before he slipped his tongue past the seam of Louis’ lips. Louis damn near fell over. He used his hands in Harry’ hair to haul him closer, lips falling open with a groan.

 

Harry, oh _God,_ he actually fucking whimpered when Louis tugged his hair, and shit, if Louis didn’t want to hear that sound over and over and over for the rest of forever. Preferably behind the privacy of a closed door, minus clothing. He didn’t really care about the particulars of the situation, just wanted to haul Harry off somewhere, peel him out of those jeans and rip him out of that not-even-really-a-shirt and get his mouth on him again. Louis ached for the man in front of him, longed to take him apart over and over, watch him fall apart and never put him back together. To figure how to make him make more noises like that one.

Louis whined and drew closer, licking into Harry’s mouth. He _did_ taste like tequila, but Louis didn’t even care. Not as long is it kept feeling like this, like sparks shooting down his spine and heat and butterflies going crazy in his stomach. He just kept pushing in, heart shuddering and blood pounding, _more more more._

Eventually it had to end. Harry hummed and drew away slowly, fisting his hands in Louis’s hair and leaning their foreheads together. Louis whined, chasing his mouth the first few inches before he caught himself, eyes opening.

 

And _shit._ If Harry’d nearly killed him before…Louis was probably already dead now. Harry had a pretty flush high on his cheekbones, eyes glassy and almost entirely black. Louis had no doubt that his own face was flushed.

 

He was such a sight. Louis wanted nothing more than to lean back in those couple millimetres, listen his heart screaming and close the distance, get lost in him again.

But he didn’t do that. He wasn’t allowed.

 

It took probably far longer than was actually acceptable, but eventually Harry drew away. He cleared his throat and Louis detangled his hands from his hair. Harry’s eyes went to a spot over Louis’ shoulder, and he smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, though. There was something else, something in his eyes. Louis couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Eventually, Harry said “well, I guess that worked,” dropping his gaze back to Louis.

_Right. Matt._ Louis coughed. “Uh…good. I guess.” He pointedly did _not_ pay attention to how his heart dropped, cold and dead, into his shoes. The happy buzz building at the back of his skull faded into a low, pounding headache.

“Uh. Yeah.”

Louis couldn’t take it. Not for one more ridiculous second could he take it, stand this awful feeling rising in his stomach and threatening to choke him. He spun on his heel, letting out a quiet “be right back” before sprinting off the dance floor.

Harry might’ve said something behind him, but whatever it was was swallowed up by the crowd and the pounding in Louis’ head and the dull ache gnawing at his heart.

Elbows flew in and out of vision as Louis stumbled for the edge of the dance floor, _away_ from the pounding bass and the place where he’d kissed Harry. _Away_ from those chestnut curls and the swirling, dizzying lights.

Head and heart pounding, vision swimming with black spots and _those were not tears, no, not again,_ Louis wasn’t really sure where he was going. He found a set of stairs and stumbled up them, anything to get further away. There was a hallway, full of doors on either side. He picked one and flung it open, flung it shut, flung himself to the floor.

_Cold. Tile._ A bathroom, then. Good.

Louis curled tighter into himself, mind racing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louis remembered, now, why he hadn’t wanted to do this in the first place. Why he’d been so nervous-scared at the beginning, all fidgety sweaty palms and flaming face. Because as much as he was attracted to Harry, (he could admit that to himself now), he was also broken.

Very, very broken, broken because of Matt leaving him and Zayn and Niall disappearing and Liam trying to pretend nothing was wrong. Broken because he was terrified of being left alone and terrified of looking weak and terrified of needing someone…and then Harry happened. Harry came in, and made him need someone again.

And where had it gotten Louis? Curled on a bathroom floor in some disgusting frat house, stomach in knots and heart splintered in his chest.

Louis sobbed harder, not knowing when it was exactly he’d started, only that his lungs were on fire and his heart _hurt._ Everything hurt, lying in tatters around him. And it was his own stupid fault, stupid for letting Harry in in the first place.

_Harry._ Harry whose smiles rivalled the sun and had a heart of gold. Harry with the ridiculous sense of honour and righteousness and just pure _good_ in him.

Harry who didn’t love him.

Louis’ stomach turned over, and he scrabbled for the toilet, sitting up as he retched. His throat burned, the tequila just as terrible coming up as it was going back down.

Sighing, he rested his head on the cool porcelain, not giving enough of a fuck to lift himself back up.

Harry didn’t love him. _Couldn’t_ love him, not after tonight. Not after a kiss like that, when Louis’d bared his heart and soul and poured them both into the kiss, only to have Harry pull back and start looking for _Matt._ It’d been a fucking phenomenal kiss, Louis knew. It’d blown his mind, felt like he was going to float right out of his skin and through the ceiling. He’d hoped it’d be the same for Harry, too.

But maybe Harry was the type of boy who kissed boys like that all the time. How was Louis to know?

One thing Louis did know? Harry was only doing this to help Louis, not because he was into Louis. He’d told himself that first day, waking up with Harry in his kitchen. He’d told himself while texting Zayn about it, hell he’d told Zayn too. Louis’d known this from the start, in the same abstract way he’d known that one day Matt was going to leave.

But it’d snuck up on him, come up from behind and jammed a knife in his ribs. Left him gasping and bleeding out, heart all over the floor. 

So Louis stayed in the bathroom, broken and bleeding, not bothering to expect Harry to come looking for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louis woke up the morning after the party, still curled on the bathroom floor, neck and shoulders aching and head pounding. He sat up, groaning at the way his stomach swirled when he did. _Ugh._

He checked his phone and winced at the brightness. It felt like little knives stabbing into his brain, and that feeling only worsened when he saw the notifications.

5 missed texts, 3 from Liam and 2 from Niall, 6 missed calls.

One from Matt.

None from Harry.

 

Louis did what he usually did in these times of crisis, and flung his phone away from himself, groaning and closing his eyes. It might’ve smelled of feet and stale beer, but the cold tile of the floor was a welcome sensation. He was sorely tempted to just stay there forever. Sadly, the rules of party etiquette said otherwise.

It might’ve only been 7 or 8 in the morning, but his head ached something awful, his mouth tasted like something’d died in it, and he wanted to go _home._ He wanted to go home and forget kissing Harry, forget leaving him on that dance floor, forget the way he hadn’t been followed.

So that’s exactly what he did. There were definitely less enjoyable things than climbing on a bus at 7:43 on a Saturday, still in the previous night’s clothes, but Louis couldn’t think of them. And when he stood outside his apartment door, knowing full well who was on the other side of it, the only thought in his brain was _fuck it._ The last 24 hours had already been a colossal fuck-up, not like it could actually get much worse.

He shouldered open the door, passed the passed-out body of his ex-boyfriend and the slightly stirring one of his dickish roommate, and swung into his room without breaking stride. The bedroom door slammed behind him. In the hall, there was an echoed shout and a muffled thump which sounded suspiciously like someone rolling—or falling--off the sofa.

12 hours before, Louis would have laughed. He would have laughed himself silly, and probably texted Harry about it, and maybe gone into the hall to point and laugh some more. As it was, he just groaned, removed his shoes and jeans, and went back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

Louis didn’t hear from Harry for two days. In the grand scheme of the universe, this was not a long time. It wasn’t even remotely a big deal. In the very small, petty and tumultuous scheme of Louis’ life, it was a _really fucking big deal._

He hadn’t spoken much to Zayn, either. They’d kind of awkwardly tiptoed around each other, doing their best at avoidance when they lived in a two-bedroom flat together. It wasn’t easy. Especially not with Zayn doing the moony sad-eyes around Louis every goddamned second of the day.

Louis was having a pretty shit week, all things considered.

And of course, as was the way of all terrible things entering Louis’ life recently, the signal of Louis’ doom came with a text.

**10:32AM, Matt**

_Leaving town tomorrow or the next day. Can I come over to get my things? After that, done, promise._

It was pretty benign, all things considered. Three days ago it would’ve had Louis jumping for joy, running to show Harry how well the plan had worked, how easily they were getting away with this.

Now, it just sent a dull throb of pain through him, set his heart thundering. Because he knew what he had to do now. He knew that, even after it all, even with how pissed and hurt he was, he still needed Harry to come and get him out of this one.

Not in a million years could he fathom dealing with Matt alone, not after coming in drunk and sad and alone the other day in front of Matt, not if he wanted to make it out even a little intact. As much as it would kill him, _shred him,_ to see Harry, he knew it would be worse to _not_ see Harry.

The small, hopeful, unbroken sliver of his heart was still hoping something might come of it. He hated himself for that.

But not quite enough to stop himself from doing what he did next.

~~~

Harry picked up on the second ring, sounding breathless. “Louis?”

Louis winced, wanting to hide, run, duck, anything to avoid this current situation and all its terrible confusion. He wanted the twisting in his stomach to go away, wanted the horrible squirmy bubble of shame to just up and disappear. But he couldn’t. So he took a deep breath and soldiered on.

“Matt just texted me.” He waited, expectant, for a reaction. When none came, the phone stoic and silent, he continued. “He’s coming over in a few hours to get his things.” That elecitied a response from Harry, who swore softly.

“Want me there?”

“Yes.”

“How soon?” Was this harry being curt? Was it awkward? Louis didn’t even know at this point.

“Soon as you can.” It seemed they were going the not-talking-about-it route, fully ignoring the last couple days of radio silence. Louis could live with that.

Probably.

“Be right there.”

~~~~

The doorbell rang. Louis knew without thinking that it was Harry, even though Harry had never once rung the doorbell, not even when he’d been delivering. Hell, _nobody_ had run the doorbell in a while. Everyone knocked, or just texted to let him know he was there.

This was a change of pace. Louis didn’t know why it was unsettling. Either way, he opened the door to see Harry standing on the step, fidgeting awkwardly, kicking the toe of his boot against the ground.

“Uh, hey.” Harry jerked his head up, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “H-hey.”

“Um…come in?” Louis faked a jovial smile, gently teasing, or something like that. This was a farce of a conversation, and they both knew it.

Harry played along, though, smiling slightly (Louis thought he saw bitterness in those eyes, but he couldn’t be sure) as he stepped over the threshold.

~~~~

Matt came, stood on the doorstep with a crinkled brow but no malice in his eyes. It was so completely different from the other night, with the barging in and the ugly words and Louis throwing a plate and having a breakdown. Not even remotely similar. It almost felt like a letdown, somehow. Louis’d been gearing up for an argument all week. The squirmy, shivery feeling in his gut was _so ready_ to tear Matt to pieces.

Hell, Louis and Harry had concocted this whole goddamned scheme, wrecked Louis’ heart in the process, and it barely seemed necessary now.

So Matt stood there, not quite fidgeting on the doorstep, and across from him stood Harry and Louis, an unnecessary united front. Harry’s arm around Louis’ waist, Louis’ breath coming just a little too fast.

“Uh, do you know where my old CDs went?” Matt’s voice was quieter, meek, almost. Louis nearly gasped. His irritating side was screaming to go shake him by the shoulders and yell _snap out of it!_

But he didn’t. He led Matt to the spare room/office/place Zayn stored the records he was embarrassed to own, saying nothing. Harry let him go, standing stiffly in the hall, stonefaced.

It was all too calm. In some alternate universe, Louis imagined, Matt and Harry were fighting and Harry’s fist was shoving Matt’s teeth down his throat. Louis almost wanted to be in that universe. It was probably hot as hell, watching Harry get angry.

It took a few hours, hours of dust and unearthing old things Louis had ether forgotten or made himself forget existed. Harry was a constant presence, standing stiffly in the background, occasionally lifting a box or hunting down a roll of tape. At one point, he made tea. Disappeared into the kitchen for ten minutes and reappeared with two mugs. One for him, one for Louis.

It was possibly the most passive-aggressive thing Louis had ever seen.

When Matt was gone, last vestiges of his life fully erased from Louis’, all Louis could do was sigh. He’d even taken the sweater, the one that until recently had been hidden under the bed, squirreled away lest anyone find it. Louis wasn’t even that much of a fan of it, it turned out. When the time came, he’d just smiled bitterly and dug it out, handing it over without a second glance.

The last box taped shut, the last dog-eared paperback and still-scented shirt removed and sealed in the back of Matt’s van, and Louis was reminded, so suddenly, of that last day all over again. That first last day, when they’d both been crying and Matt couldn’t stop sniffling and Louis had gone home to scream at Zayn.

It’d all come full circle. And Louis wasn’t crying anymore.

~~~

Matt stood once more, probably for the last time, on the doorstep. Hands in his pockets, face almost…regretful? Probably just a trick of the light. He lingered a while, mulling something over, chewing his lip and staring at the walls. At last he looked up, and smiled bitterly. “Gonna miss this place.”

In another lifetime--or perhaps just a week ago--Louis would have responded, “Gonna miss _you.”_ Now, though, all he could offer was a small smile and a handshake.

Matt’s palm was warm, rough against his. “I…sorry about how it all worked out.”

It wasn’t an apology. It was far from an apology, far from what Louis deserved. It didn’t even begin to cover all the bullshit from this past week, or the aching, scabbed-over wounds it’d reopened. But it was something. And from Matt, right now, it was all Louis was going to get.

It was, oddly enough, all he wanted.

There was very little left he had to say to Matt, he found. None of the vicious fervour from the other night. Very little of that same Louis that had thrown a plate and collapsed against Harry, weak and trembling and so very, very _afraid._ Matt wasn’t the great hulking brute of an ex-boyfriend that needed to be villainized and plotted against. He was just a boy, scared and sad and a little heartbroken, coming home on Valentine’s day to find the boy he’d loved with someone else. Louis understood. It didn’t mean he forgave him, but it meant he got it.

Perhaps that was all there was left, understanding.

And then Harry piped up, possibly with the first words he’d said all afternoon. “You should be glad he let you in at all.” It wasn’t malicious; instead almost conversational. Stone-cold fact. Louis couldn’t see Harry, but it felt like the sort of sentence one delivered while examining a perfect manicure. Or a sharpened knife. And Louis’ stomach dropped.

He didn’t want a fight. Not now. Not ever.

But Matt didn’t look pissed. If anything, he seemed cowed, head bent towards the floor and face twisted up. “Yeah…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, trailing off into nothing.

There it was. Understanding.

Louis heard the creak and groan of the couch springs as Harry stood up, floorboards whining as he stepped over to join them.  “I think…you’d best be going now.”

Louis realized, belatedly, that he was still gripping Matt’s hand. Not tightly, not actively, but it was still there, one last tie between them. Their linked hands, holding together all they’d once been. All the memories of what they’d become with each other.

So Louis let go. He let go, and stepped back, placid smile still firm on his face. This was goodbye, official and forever. Matt knew it too.

“Be seeing you, Louis.” And with a little wave, he stepped backwards out the door, closing it behind him.

~~~~

“I’m just saying, that could have gone _so much worse.”_ Harry was saying, voice filled with what almost resembled glee.

“Yeah…it was…odd.” Louis couldn’t quite meet his gaze, eyes trained on the floor.

“Odd?” Harry made as if to stand up, but flopped over instead. “Don’t you mean good?”

Mulling it over, Louis grimaced. “Yeah, but… I was expecting more of an argument, you know? After everything this week?”

“You’ve got a point…” Harry allowed, smile dropping into a frown.

“It seemed…too easy.”

“Not everything has to be difficult”

“Not everything is simple, either.”

Harry was silent for a while, mulling it over, staring so hard at a point on the wall Louis was almost convinced it’d catch fire. At long last he sat up, looking Louis dead in the eyes. “Louis. Not much about this week was simple. After all of it? All the fucking planning and tiptoeing around him and his friends staring at you weird and you and Zayn fighting? Maybe you deserved a little bit of easy.”

Louis’ pulse pounded, blood rushing behind his ears.

“Maybe it was _because_ of the fake-dating that he chilled out so much” Harry offered, a furrow carved between his brows. That sounded like a non-excuse, and they both knew it. Something wasn’t quite adding up.

“Went brilliantly, though.” Louis’ voice was just a _bit_ thicker than he’d intended, but fuck it. After today, he didn’t exactly expect to see Harry again. There was no need.

Harry swallowed, and Louis could see his throat working from all the way across the room. “Yeah.”

They were both thinking it, then. Thinking of the awkward days of radio silence and avoidance. But here they were, avoiding it once again.

Harry stood up, then, stood up to leave probably, or maybe just grab a drink from the kitchen. Louis had no idea. But all he could see was his goodbye with Matt just an hour before, the bittersweet closing of a door that he had no intention of opening again. It’d hurt, but it’d been a good hurt. It was an ache that made sense, like the healing of a pulled tooth.  At least with Matt, he’d said everything that’d needed to be said.

Matt had walked out the door, and Louis couldn’t have thought of a single thing to bring him back. Harry, though. Louis had _so much more_ to say. So much more than could be accomplished with a curt nod and a bittersweet smile.

And there was no reason not to. It was an abrupt realization, the one that told him _there is no reason not to do that thing you want to._ Harry might very well walk out of that flat and Louis’ life and never return. And that was something Louis would deal with, eventually. He would learn to understand it, learn to get around it.

But at least he’d say everything he needed to, first. “Wait!” He cried, jolting his way out of the sofa and into a standing position. Harry paused, halfway across the room, one foot raised to slip into a shoe. Louis cleared his throat.

“Wait,” he said again, softer. He took another step forward, an aborted half-movement bringing him closer to Harry. Harry put his foot down, pulled the scarf back off from around his neck.

“What?”

“I just…uh.” It was still harder to say than it needed to be. He was only human, damn it. “Thank you for…everything.” Louis fidgeted, staring at his feet.

Harry smiled, a soft little thing that blossomed between them, tugging out his dimples and warming Louis’ face. Radiant. “You’re welcome, Louis.” He took another step closer.

“No, you don’t understand, I….really enjoyed it.” He winced. That wasn’t quite what he meant. That sounded all wrong. That hadn’t been at all what he meant, that he’d _enjoyed_ being terrified and sad and stressed about his ex-boyfriend, and dragging Harry thought it with him.

But Harry’s smile didn’t falter. He didn’t look concerned, or confused, or repulsed. There it was; understanding. “Yeah, I…me too.”

“Do you…” Louis winced; there was no way to ask this that didn’t sound like a stereotype or kind of pathetic, outwardly. But whatever. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? “Do you wanna…get coffee…or something…” He trailed off, looking anywhere but at Harry, face flaming.

Louis was still looking at the floor, examining a particularly riveting crack in the floorboards, when he heard Harry’s footsteps. Coming closer. He was still looking at the floor, the tiniest hint of a smile growing, when Harry’s sock-clad feet stopped right in the centre of his view. Unmoving. He was still looking at the floor when Harry brought a finger up under his chin, gently tilting his head up to eye level.

“Sure,” Harry whispered, smile a thousand yards wide and positively blinding. Louis echoed the smile even as he rose up onto his tiptoes, bringing his lips up to meet Harry’s.

 

It wasn’t like the other times. It wasn’t a mad dash to the finish line, harried and frantic and a rush to do and try everything all at once because who knew how long they had to do it. It wasn’t urgent, like they had something to prove to each other. They’d already gone and done that, bared their souls in the most backward of ways in this crazy jumbled-up mess of a non-relationship.

It was chaste, at first. Sweet and slow, so slow. Louis nearly whined at the unhurried pace, the gentle pressing of lips. And then he tilted his head slightly to the side, eoepened his mouth a little. They’d done this a fair amount by now, and a rhythm developed, occupying every single inch of Louis’ brain with _Harryharryharry_

Even as his hands moved upwards to bury themselves in Harry’s gorgeous curls and Harry’s hands slipped down to rest just above the curve of Louis’ ass, it still couldbt be anything other than sweet. So Louis took matters into his own hands, yanking Harry closer and pulling their bodies close, fucking his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

Harry appreciated, to say the least. He gripped tighter at Louis’ waist, whining low in his throat and pushing back against him, slowly walking them to the countertop.

They separated for just a moment, long enough for Louis to jump up onto the countertop and catch his breath. And then Harry was standing between his legs, dopey grin plastered across his cheeks, eyes boring into Louis’. Louis leaned his forehead gently against Harry’s, a dopey smile to match the taller man’s.

“You.” “Are.” “Incredible.” He murmured, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss. Even this close, Louis saw the happy flush travel its way up Harry’s neck, eyes sparkling. And it seemed that maybe Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he kissed him again.

They kissed like they had all the time in the world. Or maybe like the outside world didn’t exist; there was nothing left in the universe except Louis and Harry, this boy made of sunshine and curls. The absolute best person Louis had had the pleasure of meeting in a long, _long,_ time. The boy who consoled a complete stranger (well, as close to stranger as possible) at nearly midnight on Valentine’s day. The boy who brought him coffee when his lectures went terribly, and took him dancing when they needed to forget the world.

So they did. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, exploring a little more of each other with each passing moment, even as the rest of the world around them dimmed. And when louis eventually hopped off the counter, dragging Harry down the hall with a determined step, they were both giggling along the way.

Especially when Harry, in all his sock-clad splendour, slipped on the wooden floorboards, bringing them crashing to the ground.  

**Author's Note:**

> OMG OK ITS DONE WOW THAT...HAPPENED  
> I literally have no proper words to express how happy I am that I got this done, (more or less) on time, and wayyyyyy over my original intended wordcount.
> 
> I found this fic incredibly difficult to finish because halfway through writing, my boyfriend and I started dating, and I had to take a step back and realize that a lot of what's portrayed in fanfiction is much more dramatized than real life will ever be (at least for me, lol). I hadn't realized that before, and it made keeping the tone and writing style the same all the way to the end very difficult. I started writing Harry and Louis how two people in love interact, not how two people in fanfic-love interact. 
> 
> To that end, I probably won't be writing much more fanfiction, if any, but instead will start focusing on original works. I love you all, and if you've ever commented or kudos-ed or bookmarked a work of mine, then you are very very dear to my heart.
> 
> Leave a comment below if you want to scream about this, if you hated it (and why) or if you loved it. Kudos are always appreciated (show a girl some love, ey?)


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